


Flour-ing Roses

by biggayhimbo



Category: OHSHC - Fandom
Genre: Arcades, Baking, Dancing, M/M, Rollerblades, Therapy, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000, obvious self insert character, sick/comfort, yearning lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 78,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28468134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggayhimbo/pseuds/biggayhimbo
Summary: It’s the plot of OHSHC, but everyone goes to therapy.(And also there will be an arc where i brutally attack yoshio otoori)
Relationships: rich boy and an anti-capitalist
Comments: 103
Kudos: 24





	1. in which we discover sometimes punching people works out for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [irleddiekaspbrak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irleddiekaspbrak/gifts).



> AN:  
> this was honestly just a shifting script that metasized into a fic so 
> 
> anyway, couple of things:
> 
> -all current music exists, but only in the sort of mediums that made sense for the original show  
> -none of the plot from the show has actually happened, it’s just the characters  
> -all names have been changed, so any ties to real people is purely coincidental.

The door to the host club is the same as every other door at Ouran. It looks rich. You can see your reflection in the door handles. And, however distorted I look in it, my eyes don’t look scared.

So I open it, silently, and for the second before I step inside, I'm unnoticed. The minute you can hear my boot step onto the polished marble floor, though, heads snap towards me. It’s after club hours. Nobody moves. Nobody says anything. Are they shocked I'm a boy? I hate this expecting sort of silence, but it makes what I need to say easier. Probably.

Well. This is the host club I’ve heard about. But I came here on a suspicion that I intend to finish. And with gifts, to make it easier. I hope. Still nobody says anything, even as I cross to where the third years sit and place the cake carrier in front of them.

From there, I walk to where Fujioka sits. He watches me, not with fear, but curiosity. Doe-eyed, they call it.

“My name is James Lysander. I’m pleased to meet you. Regardless of your biological sex, do you have a set of pronouns you want everyone to use for you?”

“Uh. Well. He/Him would do fine. It doesn’t matter too much, but I like those best.”

Suoh stands bolt upright across the room and crosses towards me, shouting. Leave it to him to carry on like that. Classic blond.

“That is not any proper way for a young lady to be addressed! You are absolutely ridiculous, to talk like that! A proper young woman-“

I can feel the eye-roll from Fujioka behind me. At this point, he’s only a few feet away from me, and I cut him off.

“Suoh, I want you to stand still a moment for me, alright?”

“proper young woman would never- What? Why?”

I make a show of taking my rings off, first my right hand, then my left.

“Why are you doing that?”

I stuff the rings in my pocket.

Then I haul off and punch him, square in the nose.

“Mainly so that the punch I just threw at you didn’t break your nose. Now go sit on that couch and I’ll make you an ice pack. And keep your head tilted forward.”

He’s shocked into compliance for a moment, and then scared into it for the next, so as I cross to the serving trays in the back of the room and wrap a handful of ice in a couple of cloth napkins, he slowly walks up to the plushy red couch and sits.

I cross back up to him, and my footfalls feel unrealistically loud in the silence of the room. I’m aware of the eyes on me. I kneel down next to him and pose him the way one would a child. Head forward, back at a 45 degree angle, and then press the ice pack up to his nose.

“Good. Hold that pose, especially if you feel light headed or there’s more bleeding after a few minutes. Now, Hitachiin brothers.”

I stand and turn to face them, leaning up against one another.

“Please come and sit next to him. I’d like to address something with all of you.”

Everyone else is still silent. Shocked. No, confused. Both?

I turn my back to the room and cross away towards the door. Pull my bag off and set it down. Then, walk back across to where the twins are now coiled onto the couches.

“Listen, guys. I’m not terribly involved at this school, so listen good when I tell you I have no reservations about fucking you up. If you ever infantilize, misgender, or harass Fujioka over there, I can cause issues.”

I turn a full 180 to face Otoori.

“And I’m not afraid of the black onion squad. Sorry if that’s an inconvenience to you.”

His calm demeanor slips for a second. I’m still surprised that nobody’s talking. Guess my homework on these losers paid off.

“Glad you’re all unfazed by that. I suppose that means that Fujioka here won’t have any issues with you.”

I start towards the cake, and Morinozuka and Honey remain unflinching.

That’s good, I think. They aren’t scared of me, at least.

I reach their table and pop the top off the carrier. It’s a beautiful cake, if I say so myself. Three tiers, lemon cake with vanilla-and-strawberry icing. I spent nearly four hours on the detail work alone- it’s got a giant strawberry drawn on top and pink swirls down the sides.

I can’t think of anything to say after that, so I just cross to the back of the room with the tea trays and place a pot of tea and two cups on it, then all the little odds and ends you need for tea.

The Otoori boy’s been watching me, same as everyone else. His eyes feel like fire staring into my back.

But before, where he seemed caught between going to check on the twins and going over to talk to me, he now crosses to the table- my cake.

I reach the table slightly before him, and he stands about five feet back from me on the other side of the table. Smart, but I’m not worried about him.

So I ignore him.

I’m not sure what else to do, deciding to act on instinct and pour tea for the third-years. My bitchy old etiquette teacher’s voice is still in my head. Curse private schools.

“No, face the teacup handles like SO. And place the spoons on the side- yes, like that. Perhaps you’ll become a civilized man yet.”

I hated her. But she was useful, even if I don’t remember much of her other than that she was always too cold.

Otoori takes a step forward, then another. He’s looking at my cake. Which was the goal. And at least that searing fucking gaze is off me. I lay plates in front of the third years and then step away. Nobody moves.  
One beat, Two. Three.

Ever the voice of reason, Otoori cuts into the loudest silence of my life.

“You have told us your name is James Lysander. Interesting. Now, Lysander- who the hell are you?”

“Close family calls me Axel. I am an honor student who joined Ouran at the beginning of my second high-school year. My birthday is in October. I am fluent in English and French. I’m not yet fluent in Japanese but I knew enough to pass the entrance exams. I am in your class. I’m surprised that you and Tamaki haven’t noticed me but I’m not particularly offended.”

“And you made this cake- How?”

“I baked it? How else do you make a cake?”

“Where did you learn how to do this?”

“I am self taught. What’s with all the questions, Otoori?”

“I am interested in bringing you on as a host. Your talent for this or your recklessness could be your draw. Hard exterior, soft interior, maybe?”

I pull a box of toothpicks out of my back pocket and pop one into my mouth like a cigarette. I disengage from the table and tea set and walk back near the couches and the other boys.

“Oh really? Didnt know you needed a new host. or you were surprised by my beauty, then?”

His mouth and eyes remain flat and calculating- but his cheeks rouge just the slightest under his glasses.

“Honey and Mori move up at the end of the year. Wouldn’t be a horrible idea to keep numbers up for the budget, yes?”

I’m smirking, and you can hear it in my voice. I’ve been walking towards the wall, and I lean against a pillar there before I answer, my gaze still trained on wire-framed glasses and the dark eyes under them.

“Whatever you say- but a man can hope, yeah?”

There’s protest that rises from Suoh and the twins- but I turn to them with a toothpick in the side of my mouth and an evil glare that seems to remind Tamaki of his bloodied nose.

“All I said, Suoh, was that Fujioka deserves the respect of every young man in the host club. Now I CAN black both your eyes to get the point across- that if he says he isn’t a girl, he will not be treated as such, but I don’t particularly want to. Do I need to do that, Mr. President?”

His mouth snaps shut and he looks over to Mori and Haninozuka for support- there’s a serving knife in Mori’s hand, but it’s not pointed at me, rather to the top tier of cake. Honey’s hands don’t waver from the teapot and bowl of sugar cubes, and although they both look up at him, they return to my cake instantly. My smirk widens and I send a wink to them, then turn to Kyoya once more.

“May I call you Kyoya-“ My voice drips with sarcasm, even through the french accent. “monsieur? And I have some conditions to discuss with you, if you’re serious about me joining up with the boy toys here.”

“Certainly, James.”

“You flatter me. Your issue with having me join, Kyoya, is that i don’t really feel like being fetishized by petty, rich young women. I’m queer, as i’m sure you guessed by-”

A vague, sweeping gesture at myself as a whole.

“everything. And frankly, I don’t fancy being featured in- what, _Moe Moe_ volume thirteen? I also don’t fancy having my things being taken and sold online.”

I set him with a hard look and finish my sentence.

“And I really don’t fancy being pimped out to whatever maiden bids the highest. You got any counter-offers to the fetishization that makes you your money? I respect your drive to prove this a worthy business, but on another level, the way your clients treat your personal lives DISGUSTS me. Being treated like some beetle in a jar doesn’t appeal to me.”

There’s a silence where I cross the room to grab plates and then go to cut slices for Haruhi, Tamaki, Kaoru, and Hikaru. Four even slices are levered out onto fine china. Honey and Mori watch me warily, but nobody moves. I balance two plates on each hand and cross the room, first to Haruhi’s table, then to the sofa where the somewhat chastised twins and an anger-flushed Tamaki sit in a row.

One hand moves to place a serving down in front of Tamaki, and the other moves up behind it to settle the brothers’ slices into place as well. I’m crossing back to the tea trays for forks when Kyoya speaks.

“And if I could arrange for you to “join up” as you say, out of our client’s general scope, you would be interested in that?”

There’s a pause where I lay forks across the top of the dessert plates and think.  
The toothpick shifts in my mouth.

“Well you can’t exactly be a host out of the public eye, yeah? How do I join the host club without hosting? i would be a net loss, Mr. Budget.”

There’s a silence again- broken, unexpectedly, by Kaoru, the first of the four to bite into my cake.

“You can bake. Very well. You aren’t on par with a special-trained french one or anything, but you aren’t bad. At all.”

I'm smiling when I answer, however angry it’s undertones.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Kaoru is exactly right. You could join up as our baker or a server- You have classical etiquette training, I can tell by how you served Honey and Mori, plus how you placed those forks. None of the direct involvement or fetishization of genuine hosting, but you can serve food and drinks for the guests.”

“I’m not cheap, Kyoya. And I'm a little too loud for all the finery you like. And I dislike the dress-up you do. It’s fine for you, but I don’t care for it. If you can provide me ingredients, or a budget for them, I can bake. I am trained in rudimentary table etiquette but I’d say I’m a bit rusty. Your princesses and queens would have issues with a street-rat serving them. I can barely waltz. I am unequipped to be a host. I am unequipped to entertain. You would do well to pass me up, Otoori. I am a hassle here on scholarship.”

“You can learn to waltz. You can re-learn table etiquette. Our budget more than provides for cakes, especially if you can help serve. I can divert from our current food budget and your only real issue would be the transportation of them, yes?”

“I got this one here just fine, didn’t i?”  
“You did. How long did it take you to make this?”

“In a household kitchen, including shopping and taking time to do my homework before starting? All night. And this is a three tier. Cakes require baking, cooling, leveling, crumb coats, cooling to set the icing, design, color schemes, mixing icing, doing the base layer, and then the real details- in my own kitchen at home, I could probably get two double-tiers out in a night without homework and with less extreme detail, but I wouldn’t be sleeping and that’s a fraction of what you need for even a day. You average seventy-five clients on a monday, one-hundred-twenty on a friday when there’s more time for their business. The best I can do is two cakes Sunday night, to be brought in Monday for club use.”

I did my research on these boys, and their club. They’re inescapable at this school. Especially when you’re in class with two of them. That’s how I got my hunch on Haruhi. And why I’m here. 

“And with someone to use your recipes, bake, cool, and level, leave the actual decoration fully prepped for you, in a larger kitchen? Presumably with better tools.”

“Many more. How would they be kept fresh? Or is it more my showmanship and less so my quality?”

“If you could ice two cakes a day, fully prepared cakes, double tiers, to be used for clubs the next day, and, mainly and more importantly , serve clients, and we supply you with a budget for those things, where you may keep the money you don’t use, we would willingly bring you on to serve and decorate for us. You would get the added buff of being in a club, it improves your status around here.”

There’s a small protest from Suoh that's ignored by all of us. Kyoya has eyes only for his notebook and most of the others are watching me move around the club room.

“I don’t care about status. My next condition is odd- there is a mental health clinic on the ‘commoners side of town’ as you would say. Should you, along with the twins and Tamaki, attend regular counseling sessions there, I will join to bake and serve. That is my one condition. others are flexible.”

“Odd. But definitely something we are capable of doing. You’re supporting the clinic’s business?”

“No. Forgive me, but I did a little background-checking. You are children of neglect and trauma, common in both rich and poor families alike. You should go simply because it is necessary.”

“Fascinating. You are quite fascinating, Lysander.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Otoori. Even with a boy who flirts like I do. A deal?”

“A deal.”

The song and dance Kyoya and I have established has continued even as I’ve given a tea tray to the first years, and as their cake plates are emptied and moved to a dish cart.

The other boys have only watched me entranced and eaten. Honey has only taken one slice of cake- He’s also only halfway done with it. He has sat, upright, wide-eyed, and watched us. Kyoya has been bent over his notebook for the entire conversation. There’s a fountain pen in his hand, and the whole room is suddenly still. I don’t like it, this quiet.

Kyoya looks up and over at Tamaki. There’s another beat of silence. There’s a nod that feels more like a single twitch of their heads. Best friends agreeing nonverbally. The sort of talking done only with eyes.

There's no schedule set up, and it’s nearing time for us to leave. Too much to negotiate and not enough time to do it. Nobody genuinely knows who I am- which I like, but still, it’s an odd note to end on. So papers are exchanged with addresses, dates- I promise to arrange sessions for the four boys, same time, different doctors, tomorrow, and they’ll meet in front of the building fifteen minutes before.

Honey, Mori, and Haruhi can hang out while they wait for the other boys to get out of session. Or leave. I don’t particularly care.

Honey demands to look around the “commoner’s district” and Haruhi agrees to show him and Mori around an Expo a few blocks over.

Haruhi starts to explain what exactly goes on at an expo, and Kyoya cuts him off.

“Haruhi, I hate to interrupt you, but there are still negotiations for when James can bake and serve guests, how much of the budget is proportional for his use.”

Hikaru cuts Kyoya off too.

“And I want to see what you use in these cakes to make them so good! Are they from scratch? How can you afford the ingredients as a simple commoner?”

“Gee, Hitachiin, you flatter me. Poor people can have talent. Poor people are quite inventive. Poor people determine your industries. Poor people create from times of need and our ideas are stolen by the wealthy. Do not make comments about me. Ever. But if you are genuinely curious, which I assume you are, and just blunt, then after your first sessions with the counselors, once Kyoya and I have determined my budget, you can watch me shop at the expo.”

There’s a beat of shocked silence and Kyoya responds to me with such an air of haughtiness that it surprises me;

“James, you intend to spend time with the club after our counseling sessions tomorrow?”

“Well, Kyoya, I reckon we need time to negotiate outside of club hours. And if you’re serious about joining up immediately, I would recommend time to talk. And then I need time to shop for ingredients. I need to figure out how to move the cakes to school each day- I’ve only one carrier and you want two cakes with double-tiers. If you’re suggesting I use a school kitchen, I need to read over whatever inventories you have for tools. Lots of things need to be decided, and it’s nearly dark. I have to get home. If your sessions are tomorrow, and they’re early enough that we could go to an expo while we wait for you to be done, I think it would make sense to negotiate afterwards, Mr. analyst?”

“I’m not complaining. I’m just saying you surprised me.”

“Then I’m sure you have a work phone, maybe a burner? I can call and give you your time slots in the morning, tell you when you’re scheduled. Makes it easier to meet up at the expo afterwards, too. I don’t disapprove of the club’s members, just your clientele.”

As I speak, I cross over to the couch that faces off towards Kyoya and settle into the end seat, crossing my legs knee-to-ankle, to where I can feel the sturdy leather pressing into my jeans.

“And you don’t want anyone else’s number?”

“I could probably find Haruhi’s if i had to. Mori and Honey- may I call you that?”

A nod from Mori and an enthusiastic “of course!!” from Honey, and I continue.

“They both have family dojos I could probably find and contact. No offense, but I'm not particularly interested in finding the twins or blondie when I could just contact one of the third-years, find Haruhi, or call you. You pull the strings here. And you seem to be the fastest way to distribute information.”

There’s a half second of protest from Tamaki, but Kyoya has already reached into his uniform’s blazer pocket and pulled out a blue-grey flip phone, and in another half second, I’m snatching it out of the air with my left hand.

“You can save your number as whatever you like. Haruhi, one of us will have a car take you home later. We have more to discuss. We’ll see you tomorrow, James.”

There’s a smile that sort of twists at the corners of my mouth.

“Then goodbye, Kyoya. And goodbye to the rest of you all: Kaoru, Hikaru-“

There’s a look of blatant shock on their faces as I get their names right without effort; and I stand up and continue

“Haruhi, Tamaki, Mori, Honey. I'll see you tomorrow.”

There's a second where I pause to save my contact, then another pause as I press the “Call” button, and my back pocket blinks and plays a snatch of ‘Jim Bogart’ by The Front Bottoms.

“There. I have your number, you have mine. I’ll call you around nine, I’m thinking they can get you sessions just before the lunch break, so before noon.”

There's a thick layer of silence that falls in the room as I place the phone down, cross to the door and pick up my bag. I open the door with one hand and pull my bag across my body with the other.

And then Haruhi’s voice breaks the silence as he stands and crosses towards Kyoya.

“Goodbye, James!”

I turn back and smile over the room.

“See you, Haruhi!”

And the boys break out of their trance and into motion behind me.

I pull my phone out of my back pocket and lift my chain up so it won’t catch, and as the door slowly swings shut again, the last thing they see as the boys’ eyes follow me is me sliding away down the mahogany stair railings.

Once I'm outside, I cross to the courtyard fountain and sit down, pulling out a pair of click-on rollerblades and strapping them to my docs. I feel the pressure of the boy's eyes on me through the window as I stand and skate out of the courtyard and into the near-night.

I don’t know when it is that the host club goes home.

But tomorrow is a day off school, my homework is easy, and there’s a boy’s number in my phone.

So when I take off my skates and docs in the atrium and cross to the kitchen where my aunt has left dinner, and when I move my bowl of stew into my room to start my homework and my Japanese practice, and even as I plug my headphones into my phonograph and turn on a vinyl of The Happy Yew, there’s a faint and subconscious smile on my face.

Even hours later, when my homework for the weekend is done and I've started the nightly routine of cleaning my room and sorting out my records, it’s there.

I swap functions on the record player and load a cassette into the deck from my sister at college, then press the ‘play’ button, set my alarm and lay down on a stack of stuffed animals. As I stumble through my nightly routine and fall asleep, there it is, still light and subconscious, on my face- that smile.


	2. in which there is the wakeup sequence we all know and hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sky above- they’re really going to therapy. Lysander is required to set up the appointments for the hosts, and he finds an alliance in Haruhi. Here’s to money and a slowburn!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to kaz for proofreading- and reassuring me that writing is perfectly respectable.

I wake up to a brown paper bag of breads in the kitchen- none of the pepperoni rolls or doughnuts I was used to back home, but dough stuffed with minced meat and shredded vegetables, then fried, and a fluffy bread that seemed undercooked and closer to dough, but was really good. 

They had no names on the packages. My aunt had lived here for three years and been book-fluent for a year or two before that, so I was on my own at figuring out what these were called if I wanted them again, but she did leave a note. Sloppy, scrawly script flew across a paper next to the bag. Underneath it, the translation in Japanese. 

_“Axel-_

_Went out to see one of Ri’s friends in the country. She has a farm with geese, ducks, whatever. No school, so your lunch money is in the normal envelope by the door. Have fun in the city and don’t forget to do your Japanese practice. I’ll be back late so don’t fucking touch my leftovers and you can eat out if you have money leftover from lunch._

_-Lexi”_

I smile at the thought of extra lunch money and grab a meat bun and an apple from the bowl on the counter. I'm still in my pajamas- a minimizer bra with cotton shorts and knee-high socks, and I skid across the linoleum kitchen floor before steadying myself and stepping onto the mats that cover the floor in the rest of the apartment.

I take the headphones out of the jack and pop a CD into the slot on the multiplayer. I can hear it from the next room over as I brush my teeth and wash my face. There’s the usual moment of preening over my face and then I retreat to my room and shut the door. 

I tear off the cotton sleep shorts and jump into my patch pants. Then I make up my bed and toss my shorts onto the pillow. The next steps are routine- I get dressed the same way most days; even from before i moved here. Minimizer off, binder on, check the even-ness in the mirror. Speedstick, fishnet shirt, then my normal no-sleeve T. Check the tucks of my shirt and binder, then pull my chains off the beams on my shelves. 

Protection wards, healing crystals, a family ring, a love-spell bottle, and an Irish blessing all hang on necklaces around my neck. There’s also a double loop of just chains, the kind they use on military dog tags. And then, on one wrist, a twisty gold cuff, and on the other, my grandfather’s watch. A sturdy leather belt. A homemade braided chain in trans pride colors. Another necklace chain with the keys to everything, from my typewriter back home to diary padlocks and my house keys. One last touch is my fathers defunct pocket watch and chain. Then, clip my pocket knife on my belt and genuinely tuck into the meat bun I left on my desk. 

I scarf that down and then check my face in the mirror for crumbs. Grab the apple that was standing sentry next to it. Debate for a few seconds over my patch jacket or battle vest before deciding on the jacket, but I don’t put it on yet. Then, a new pair of knee socks. One that’s neon green with spades and diamonds and one with pink-and-yellow stripes, then I sit back onto the bed to put them on. After that, I lean up and grab my normal school bag. My books are still on my desk from yesterday’s studying and I push a sketchbook and my pencil case into the front pocket, then a mini CD player and my headphones. 

I stand up and nearly fall over in my effort to make it across my room. The next thoughts are easy commands that are as natural as breathing to me by now. Pause the CD, slap it back in its case, put it in the bag too. Normal hourglass spray of Axe, crunch half a bottle of water down, and pull my phone off the charger and pocket it. 

I double check my alarm clock. 8:30. 

Right on time. 

Out my door, down the hallway, put my rings on. Put my jacket under my arm. Food money from the normal envelope, then put the docs in my bag, still with their clip-on skates out of habit. Shove the apple in my bag’s empty side pocket, lace my rollerblades on, and then out the door and lock up behind me. 

Down the steps to the building with care and then, I’m in the streets. Headphones and music, and then I’m off at a half tilt towards the clinic for their slots with my jacket flying out behind me like a flag. 

It’s another fifteen minutes before I'm there. Luckily sessions don’t start till nine and you pay afterwards. By the time I have them all registered, it’s 8:55 on my grandfather’s watch. And it’s about now that the fear registers in me- I have to call Kyoya. There’s a box of toothpicks in the side pocket of my bag; so I pull one out and nervously roll it between my teeth. I step back outside and prop myself against a column with a T-stop. 

My phone is a red LG xpression; with a slider keyboard that I click open and closed a few times. The call from last night is still there and I save the number and rattle off a text instead of a call. Okay, I don't really rattle it off. It takes five minutes to just build up my confidence. I settle on:

from: James.L @ 9:01 AM 

“ hey! its james. you all have one-hour sessions that start at eleven thirty so i would recommend showing up at eleven fifteen for paper work. the market with the expo’s only a few blocks so we can walk. ”

There's a parking lot behind the clinic and I decide to practice my nerves off but I'm only on my third warmup lap when I feel my phone buzz against my thigh. Powerslide out to stop and check my messages:

from: kyoya-o @ 9:04 AM 

“ great. thank you, ethan. if you wouldn’t mind touring the expo with honey, mori, and haruhi, the rest of us can meet at the lower level food shops to buy lunch and negotiate your budget. then you can shop. i must admit, you left quite an impression yesterday. haruhi in particular seemed to like you. i do wonder a bit about how you knew all that you did but i suppose we both have our ways. ” 

Did he spend the full three minutes typing that? What the fuck? But- they liked me. 

from: James.L @ 9:06 AM 

“ that sounds fine. if you happen to show up early i’ll probably be a few blocks from the clinic at a skate park. please dress casually- i don’t want to deal with people thinking you’ve joined the mafia. you do need to pay for your sessions. and i trust you to pass on the information on to the others. “

from: kyoya-o @ 9:09 AM

“ they’ve already been informed and are getting ready as we speak. i do have a question- how are you so untraceable? ”

from: James.L @ 9:11 AM

“ i have my ways, kyoya. do you normally investigate your friends? i mean. of course you do. but still, i’m flattered that i warrant an investigation “ 

from: kyoya-o @ 9:13 AM

“ yes. all of them. and i suppose there’s no way to find out things about you without you telling me? “

from: James.L @ 9:13 AM

“ none!! :P “ 

from: kyoya-o @ 9:14 AM

“ see you in two hours, lysander. “

Oh. Okay. I’m a bit nervous. That was one way to end a conversation. But that IS sort of how he talks. Whatever. I’m gonna go skate this off. 

I have another three CD’s in the same side-pocket as my toothpick box, and I pop one titled: “faggotry at the cast after party: skating mix” into my player and set off towards the park. It’s mostly underground punk artists from America that my friend Addie sends me recordings of and links to. They all have absolutely vile band names. I adore them. 

I’m a little more used to street skating but my jumps and turns aren’t bad. And besides, they’ll only get better with practice. So as I pull into the park, I turn my bag in front of me and go through a lap shooting the duck. I have to stop after one though- I can hear everything on my belt rattling on the ground behind me, even over the music. I pull my jacket from under my arm, my bag off over my head, keep my phone in my front pocket. Everything else is neatly settled onto a bench. My headphones stay with the CD player in my bag.

I spend about another hour just doing my normal tricks and practicing powerslides and spins until I feel my phone buzz again. I skate back over to my bag and carefully plop down next to it, and pull out my phone. 

from: UNSAVED NUMBER @ 10:26 AM 

“ hey, james, it’s haruhi from school. i’m glad you’re considering joining up- finally someone with the muscle to shut these rich people up every once in a while. they don’t really mean any harm. they’re all just kinda dense. i still love them. dont tell them i said that. mainly i wanted to ask how you knew i was biologically a girl. “

Woah. I have to learn more japanese so that these people can text me in shorter sentences. 

from: James Lysander @ 10:28 AM

“ hey haruhi! just figured it out on my own. i mean, if you can keep a secret, it’s because i’m trans masculine too. i hated seeing them be so weird about you when it obviously stems from their own issues. “

from: haruhi-f @ 10:30 AM

“ i wont tell. to be fair, i hadn’t noticed. and i think you’re right about it being issues of their own. and having another commoner boy would be great- i’m excited for the expo. ”

from: James Lysander @ 10:32 AM

“ then i’ll see you outside the clinic with the other boys soon!! :) “ 

from: haruhi-f @ 10:33 AM

“ see you then! “

My smile breaks out, slow and even. I’m a bit relieved. Haruhi and I see eye-to-eye. We can manage a few rich boys. The day is nice, and I get to go shopping for supplies with another man’s money. The negotiations still scare me, but. Well. What happens happens. Perhaps if I had a few designs ready for them- yes. That’s what I’ll do. 

I pull my jacket off from under my bag and put it on, then pull out a pencil and my sketchbook. They wanted basic double-tiers, right? And if they want pre-made batter, I’ll stick to the base flavors. Baking chocolate, vanilla extract, lemon extract, and strawberry if they have it. 

Then those chocolate dots in different colors for my mosaic styles. And depending on whether they want cakes from scratch or if they care about box-mix, I’ll need egg whites and oil, and then just normal ingredients for scratch-cakes, but I’m sure they have those if they want me to use the school kitchen. Plus I’ll need ingredients for buttercream icing, and their measurements are different, so I need conversion measurements. 

So I start the page with a list of what I work with for base cakes and another underneath it for what I use in icing. And food coloring, I guess, because most schools don’t have that in their kitchens. Depending on the flavor mixes they want, lavender and almond syrup. I’m supposing they want only the traditional western “tea-party” flavors. Lemon, lavender, strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, and orange. 

With those lists done, I move on to design. Double tiers with images of lavender sprigs or lemon slices. Blue frosting detailing. Another with red-pink hearts and black dots on the edges. Zigzag lines in different colors. A sunshine on the top of a cake with clouds and rain on the side. 

Some of my older designs were more elaborate. In my kitchen back at home, I remember garden themes, studded with rainbows and stars. Maybe I could bring the stars back- gold and navy blue, like outer space. Surely I could save up and try for that. It's just extra food coloring, however expensive gold would be. 

I double-check the time on my phone. 11:08. Time to go. Oh Sky. What if I'm late? I pick my bag up by the shorter handle and then fold the crossbody strap up and shove it into my bag. Stuff my pencil case and sketchbook back in, double-check my lunch money. Headphones on, new CD mix in. Soft indie-pop has to be better for my nerves than my usual punk, right? Well, too late now. Pull my jacket on, then adjust it so it falls easily around me, exposing my shoulders. 

Stand up, and leave. Wave goodbye to the other two boys there- we aren’t friends, but we all skate at the same time on weekends. I take off towards the clinic, vaguely aware that my cheeks are rosy, but not from exertion. 

I'm blushing. 

Why am I blushing?

It doesn’t matter. It’s fine, whatever I’m on about.

There aren’t any cars out front yet, but, since according to my phone (11:13), they’ll be here soon, I decide to eat the apple still in my bag’s side pocket. It’s a good apple. It’s all shiny and red, and as I buff it on my shirt, I don't feel any bruises. My teeth break the skin and sink into juicy, sweet fruit. I was right. It's a good apple. 

I'm only 3/4 done with it when a line of slick black cars pull up. I know who it is, but I just give them a wave and eat two more bites, then throw away the apple in a bin by the clinic door.

The boys step out- Honey and Mori in the first car, dressed in what look to be very expensive shorts and polos. The twins step out of the car behind them, dressed similarly. They still LOOK rich, of course, but they’re all dressed a bit more casually. Kyoya steps out of the third car wearing slick black jeans and a button-down. Tamaki pulls Haruhi out of the last car, and while Haruhi’s the only one who’s dressed for a day at an expo, none of the other boys have done badly, so I’m impressed. 

I breathe out, once, steady and slow. Click ‘pause’ on my CD player and call out to them;

“Hey guys!” 

Honey immediately runs at me, and I tense for a second, propping my brakes up as he crushes my waist in a hug. 

“JAMIEEEEEE!!! Hi!! We get to go to the Expo with you and Haruhi today, yes? Yeah??” 

“Yes, Honey, we do, but first we have to get the other boys into their sessions here, okay? And please let go of me carefully, I’m on rollerblades.” 

“OKAY!!!” Honey doesn’t exactly let go of me carefully, but Mori comes up behind him and his arm shoots out to steady me. He nods at me, and I nod back. He doesn’t talk much. I’m not particularly offended. He balances out Honey’s eagerness and noise. 

Haruhi and Tamaki call over to me next. Well, Tamaki does. Haruhi just sort of waves. 

Tamaki waves too, but he also accompanies it with:

“HELLO JAMES!! PLEASED TO SEE YOU AGAIN!!!”

“Tamaki, it’s good to see you too, but please don’t shout near the clinic.” 

“OKAY!!!”

I turn to the twins. 

“Hello Kaoru,” I turn and nod to them each in turn “and Hello Hikaru.” 

“Hey, how can you tell us apart?”

Are they always in unison? 

“I just can. Kaoru’s voice is higher and Hikaru is quicker to anger. No offense, but he’s much more possessive over his friends. It shows in your faces, and your eyes. You get jealous more easily, Hikaru. It’s one of many reasons why I required you pair attend counseling. I’m hoping it’ll help with you guys’ codependency.” 

There’s a moment of shocked silence.

“Well. You’re very blunt.” 

“No use lying to you, is it? You asked, I answered.” 

I lock eyes with him for a very long minute, till Kyoya interrupts our stare. 

“Good morning, James. Can you show us inside for our paperwork?”

“Course, Kyoya. Just give me a minute to change into my docs, alright?”

I plop down on the step up to the clinic and pull my docs from my messenger bag. 

“Hey, chef.”

“Yes, Kaoru?”

“Why are your shoes done up like that?”

“What, my boots?”

My rollerblades are back in my bag at this point, and I’m tugging my right boot on. 

“Yeah. Your laces are weird.”

“I can see why you’d say that. My shoes are ladder-laced. See how they make a ladder pattern? Those and the colors are used to show some of your beliefs in America. In punk scenes, ladder laces of different colors mean different things. The colors are also regional.”

By now I’m tying my first boot. 

“So not every color means the same thing in every country. However, since I’m not very aware of the scene in Japan, I still use my American colors. Yellow-“

I gesture at the done up foot with my chin, since my hands are busy threading the top few eyes of the other boot. 

“Yellow means anti-racist, and purple means you’re queer. Red and white, at least in America, are colors to avoid. Red, well, red signifies that you’re a nazi, and white signifies you’re a white supremacists.”

My boots are done and I stand up. 

“Of course, these colors are regional. And they only apply to ladder-lace boots. But that code is very useful at shows. Wouldn’t wanna go off with anyone like that, yeah?” 

There’s a beat or two of silence where I look over the boys, who formed an almost-line in front of the clinic door. 

Mori, surprisingly, is the one who breaks the silence to agree with me. 

“Yeah. That’d be bad.”

Hikaru appears to only be half listening. Everyone, minus Mori and Haruhi, are just staring up at the clinic. 

“Uh. Guys? You there? Your sessions start soon.”

Kyoya snaps back to reality first and he almost looks like he was paying attention the whole time. 

“But of course. Come on, everyone, things need to be arranged here.”

He steps up towards the door. He doesn’t go in, but the twins, closest to him, fall in behind him. Haruhi walks Tamaki up into place, and as I open the door, Honey and Mori follow. 

As I’m leading the group in, I whisper, low enough that only Kyoya can hear:

“I certainly hope you’re not scared, Kyoya.”

“Now why would you think that, James?” 

The woman at the desk looks a bit taken aback at all these loud rich boys, but between me, Kyoya, and Haruhi, we send Tamaki and the twins off to their sessions, with lots of promises to meet them back here once their hour is up. 

Then, Kyoya finishes his paperwork, and with a wave, he’s through the swinging doors and off to his appointment. 

I feel a little bit worried about them at therapy. But. I mean. It’s therapy. What's the worst that’ll happen? 

Besides, since Honey is still excitedly pulling on our hands to go to the expo, I double-check that my watch is working and we head out the door. 

Honey climbs to Mori’s shoulders, and, with Haruhi in the lead, we start down the street to the expo. He patiently starts explaining what happens at an expo as I re-fasten the carry strap on my bag. As the automatic door slides open on the expo, I pull my jacket back onto my shoulders and set my bag back to crossbody. Then I cross to the nearest map and call the others over. 

“Oi, Honey, Mori, Haruhi. Where do you guys wanna go first? The stuff I need to look at later for baking is on the third floor, there’s food shops and toy stores on the second, and the fourth is more high-end clothing stores and restaurants. The first level is just normal stuff. There’s a tech store, a convenience place, normal shops. Where do you wanna go?”

Honey’s climbed down from Mori’s shoulders to stand on a bench and see the map, which puts him on level to lean up against me and talk. 

“I wanna know where you buy all your clothes. They look so-“ Honey pauses to give little jumps. “cool!! And you obviously do it on a budget. Is it only American shops?” 

“Well, I sew or modify a lot of my own clothes. This jacket is my fathers. I hemmed it and added my own patches and spikes. My pants are normal, but I bought them cheap and added the patches to them too. We could go to a fabric store and I could show you the type of stuff I use, but I’m not even sure how they work here. I’m not even fluent yet. Maybe pick somewhere you’d like to see, ‘kay?”

“I’d like to see the shops we won’t get a chance to later! Can we just walk and see, pleaseeeeee?”

Honey’s climbed off the bench and onto my shoulders instead. I lift him up and hand him back to Mori before I reply. 

“We can start on the first floor and work up, if that’s okay with both of you.” I say, turning back from Mori to Haruhi. 

“I get to go to these most times they’re open.” Haruhi says. “So that's fine by me.”

Both of us turn and look to Mori, who only nods. 

“So, then, Haruhi, you wanna start with one of the clothing shops?”

“For sure. UNIQLO or GU?” 

“GU for sure.” 

Mori reaches out and taps the map, then turns left. “It’s right here, so it’s this way. Let’s go, Mitsukuni.”

I offer my arm to Haruhi. “Shall we, Mister Fujioka?” I say, even as I stifle a laugh. 

He laughs back. “Certainly!” and as he takes my arm, we march off after the third-years. 

We spend the next ten minutes trying to show Honey and Mori how normal clothing stores work, and they spend it trying to teach me more Japanese. Mori ends up buying himself a beanie. Black-and-red, reversible, and only 1,800 yen, (about ten USD) and Honey spends the next two of us walking around pulling it over his eyes and laughing. 

We end up giggling our way through the aisles of a five-and-dime next. Haruhi and I are debating on brands of pencils and paper, then, on the cheap plasticky toys we grew up with. Mori thumbs through the book bins, and Honey sits, slack jawed, for a full minute in the middle of the candy section, at the brightly colored packages of things he hadn’t seen before- lemonheads and caramels, fruit gummies, peach rings, before he determinedly picked a package of everything he could see and heading for the register. 

Mori talks him down to twelve, and then ten, then only six, and we finally leave for our last store. There’s only about fifteen minutes left, so we end up in a shop I recognize from home- an H&M. Honey runs off towards the children’s section with the rest of us in tow, and he ends up buying a T-shirt patterned with different types of parrots. Mori takes him to the register while Haruhi and I look at the suits. By the time they’re ready to go, we have to head back to the clinic. 

I offer my arm out to Haruhi again, and this time we take the lead. There’s idle small talk between the four of us as we walk back- stuff about weather and sports and who requested what host and whose parents bought what company. 

I suppose I should care about it, but it all just sort of makes a pleasant blanket of sound in the back of my mind. There’s a vague, foggy smile on my face. I like these people. 

As we reach the clinic, Mori leans up on one of the columns by the door while Haruhi and I stand on either side. Haruhi’s still looking up at Mori and apparently getting the skinny on someone’s publishing firm being sold, and even though I’m listening, my eyes stay on the door. I hope none of them come out too shell-shocked. They DO have to keep going for me to join, and I’m already in good with the other boys. 

Tamaki will go again since Haruhi likes me, and it was Kyoya’s idea for me to join in the first place, so he’ll probably go. I can tell Kaoru and Hikaru apart. I’m in their little world. They can’t be that hard to persuade. 

The door opens, and Tamaki’s head peeks out. 

“Oooooohhh!!! Good good good good! You’re here. Can you help me sign up for my appointment again? My doctor had a jar of candies and I get to have one at the end of all my sessions!”

I choke back a laugh at his excitement- but secretly, I feel reassured that at least one of them enjoyed going to see a therapist. 

“Sure, Tamaki. Let’s go.”

I turn back to the other three. 

“You can stay here. I’ll go in and handle their papers for next week.”

I hop up onto the entrance platform and cross to the door. As I step back into the lobby with Tamaki in tow, the door at the back of the room swings open to reveal Kaoru with a gold star sticker smack-dab in the middle of his chest. Apparently he’s got a therapist who knows how to keep clients coming back too. 

“James, look over here! My therapist gave me a sticker for saying I’d arrange another session!!”

“Alright, come over here while Tamaki pays for his appointment and you can tell me about it.”

I turn back to Tamaki. 

“Ask her how much you owe and she’ll walk you through paying. Then tell the receptionist you want a session for next week with the same doctor and she can set that up. See?”

In the time I’ve been speaking, Kaoru has crossed and now he’s standing, rapt, at my left elbow. I grab him by the shoulder and guide him over towards the other receptionist. 

“Pay her, and then tell her you want another appointment with the same doctor next week, okay? If you need help, I’ll stand right here. And when you’re done-“ 

I turn my head to acknowledge Tamaki in this as well. 

“When you’re done, go outside and try to wait out of the way with everyone else, okay? We just need to get Kyoya and Hikaru.” 

Tamaki’s chewing on a lollipop as the woman hands him two cards back- a business card with his next appointment time written across the bottom, and a credit card. Then, he’s bursting out the door, calling for Haruhi, and I can hear Haruhi chide him about being quiet in a neighborhood. 

Kaoru asks me another question about when he should get his appointment, and as the secretary and I run him through the times they have, Hikaru practically materializes at the reception desk with a smiley-face sticker stuck to his forehead. He leans forward, handing a credit card to the woman at the desk, and then scoots around behind me to Kaoru. 

“Look, Kaoru, I got a sticker for going to my session. I get them every week if I keep coming back.” 

They start comparing who’s sticker is better, and then, loud as ever, pushing each other, they head outside towards the others. I try for a moment to get Hikaru to come back before I dutifully ask to schedule his appointment at the same time as Kaoru’s with the other therapist. 

I sigh and pop a toothpick into my mouth, then turn towards the back of the room and watch the door, vaguely aware of the tap-tap-tap of the keyboard behind me. Kyoya finally comes into the room, tossing a brightly colored fruit-flavored something from hand to hand. 

“Hey there, Kyoya! How’d the sesh go?”

“Fine. They gave me a candy. And they said I'm emotionally neglected.”

“WOAHH- okay there! Let's get you set up for next week, then?”

“Absolutely. This place is fascinating.”

“That’s one way to approach it.” 

The other receptionist hands me back Kaoru’s appointment and credit card, so I step aside for Kyoya to check out and grab Hikaru’s cards too. 

“Kyoya, I have to take these to the boys. I’ll be back in a minute in case you need help, right?”

“Of course.” 

I step outside and slip the cards into each of the twins’ back pockets. Only Haruhi genuinely notices me, the rest of them are still aggressively talking about who got the better therapy prize. I head back inside to see Kyoya standing there blank-slated. I roll my eyes and cross over to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and scooting him over so I can talk to the woman at the desk. 

“Card, Kyoya.”

He wordlessly hands it to me. 

“Thank you. Now what time do you want your session next week?”

“Around the same time as today?”

“Tell her that. And tell her you want it with the same doctor. She’ll give you a little card that tells you when it is and give you back your credit card, okay?”

I take a few steps back and watch him awkwardly interact with the receptionist. He finishes signing up and finally seems to be more at ease. He grabs his cards and I usher him out the door. Haruhi and Mori start to sort of corral everyone towards the Expo, and Kyoya and I walk in the back. 

He’s still silent, rummaging through his pockets.

I shift a little closer to him as we walk and hope my breath still smells like apples. 

Our shoulders bump, just once. 

“Hey. You good?”

“They said I was emotionally stunted.”

I pause a moment. 

“I mean. That’s sort of heavy to be stuck with, but I figure they’re right. They’re therapists for a reason, and if I know anything about rich people and their legacies or whatever, being the third son is an incredible amount of pressure. And, same in commoner families, neglect is neglect. It just looks different on poor people.” 

“Well you’re right. But it was supposed to be fun- It was my game.”

“You shouldn’t compete to, what, not be neglected? You compete for attention? It seems incredibly cruel.”

We’re approaching the sliding doors of the expo now, and Kyoya sighs. 

“I suppose you’re right.”

Haruhi guides us to the same map from earlier. I sort of shuffle to the front and as the boys crowd around me, I start pointing out the food stands on the map. 

They all want different things, but the stands are all pretty close together and there are tables, so we troop up the escalators and I push the twins and Tamaki away from several vendors selling trinkets and candies. As we walk through the second floor, Haruhi deals with food for the third years, then the twins, and I walk them over to a giant table and tell them not to leave. Mori is the only person to genuinely pay attention to me, but he’s more than capable of keeping them in line. Probably. 

Back at the shops, Tamaki is gaping at the different slices of pizza, ridiculously excited, as Kyoya just looks over the stands with a regal eye. Fitting. As I approach, Haruhi seems to be talking Tamaki through the options, all while he bounces on the balls of his feet. 

Eventually, Tamaki decides on two slices of pepperoni and a side salad, and as Haruhi guides him through paying, I nudge Kyoya. This whole time, he’s been sort of disdainfully watching the table, and I’m too afraid to turn around and see them. His head snaps back towards me. 

“What, are you afraid this place is below your pay grade? Actually, don’t answer that. You see anything you like?”

“It is below my pay grade, but I suppose I don’t mind something new if everyone else likes what they’ve got. How do I order?”

“Same as anywhere else. You look for what you want on the display, you tell the clerk-“ 

My head turns and I wave at the poor girl behind the counter.

“and then they box it up, and you pay for the meal and receive your food at the register.”

Before he can answer, Haruhi taps me on the shoulder with a question. 

“Hey, you can manage Kyoya, right? Tamaki and I are gonna go sit.”

“Yeah, dude, for sure. We’ll be there in a minute.”

I can see Tamaki waving at us with his entire arm from the booth and lightly push Haruhi on his way. Kyoya and I both hear him, very resignedly, say:

“I’m coming, Tamaki, calm down.”

I bite back a laugh, and I’m aware in the corner of my eye, that Kyoya’s smiling as we turn back to face the counter. 

“Do you want me to order first, and then you can decide what you want to eat? They’ve got a lot of stuff I know from home here, which is a relief.”

“No. I don’t care about what I eat that much, just order double of whatever you want and make them give me utensils.” 

“And I assume you want the orders separate. Any opinion on what you want to drink?”

“No and no. I’m paying.”

“What? No you’re not. We can pay separately.”

I don’t say anything else, but I’m fully thinking that if I let him pay for my lunch, it’ll come back to bite my ass. And not in the fun way. 

“Quit worrying. You booked our sessions and you’ve been helping the club around the market. It’s like a trade. No strings, alright? Now hurry up and order. You’re holding up the line.”

I’m still not sure about it, but he is right about the line. And I don’t want to keep the boys waiting.

“Fine. Go over to those machines beside the register and get your utensils. I’ll order.”

He turns and ducks under the bar that shows people where to line up, then, like a faithful little soldier, he walks over to the machines. 

I turn back to the girl, apologize for our loudness, and order four slices of pizza, two-per-plate, a small pasta, and a salad. Kyoya can decide which side he wants. 

By the time all our food is boxed up, he’s finally figured out how to get his utensils out, and he looks disoriented that they’re made of plastic. But, I mean, of course he is. If you’re born with a silver spoon in your mouth, literal or otherwise...

I ask Kyoya to pick out our drinks as I grab a few napkins and place our food onto a tray. Then I guide him through paying, stack the drinks on the tray, and we walk towards the others. They’ve sat down in the corner, at a line of tables where one side is a booth and the other chairs. Kyoya and I take the end of the table, with me on the outside chair and him on the bench. 

There's a moment of negotiation where everyone gets their food ready, and even though we’re eating, sitting across from Kyoya when he’s paid for my food feels like a cross between a date and a job interview. Weird. 

Everyone else tucks into their food, even Mori, although he’s keeping a careful eye on Honey. 

I pause for a second to pray over my food, and as I mutter out the normal;

“hey-god-c’est-moi-bless-this-food-and-those-that-prepared-it-keep-my-family-safe-and-protected-thank-you-for-this-day-amen” 

I recognize the sort of lull that hit the table, and when I look up from my blessing, I’m a tiny bit embarrassed. 

“You guys don’t need to be quiet when I pray. It’s just the normal before-you-eat thing.”

Kyoya has the air I’ve seen him use on girls in our homeroom, but it feels more natural. 

“Eh, it’s a respect thing. It’s really not a big deal.”

Kaoru parrots him. 

“Yeah. We don’t mind. Respect is important and stuff.” 

My blush deepens. It’s really not awkward, but I hate feeling like I can’t fill silence. Like I’m holding people up. Secretly, though, however much I hate the few seconds of silence that fall, I’m a little honored they all stopped talking. 

Kaoru comes to my rescue by shooting Tamaki in the face with a straw wrapper and breaking the moment. Tamaki immediately retaliates with a shot that misses and hits Kyoya. In a matter of seconds, it’s a war zone. I nail Hikaru right in-between the eyes as he aims for Haruhi, and as I duck a shot from Honey, I notice Kyoya- he’s laughing. Genuinely laughing. My shot is spent, and I spend the few seconds of straw-paper fights left watching him. 

My mind clicks from moment to moment, replaying all our interactions. 

“You are quite fascinating, Ethan.”

“A deal.”

“You left quite an impression.”

And my blush, this morning. 

Oh. 

Well. 

If you’re to fall for a boy, at least this one’s a looker. 


	3. in which negotiations are easy for starving artists.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was a punk, he ran a host club, can i make it any more obvious? In this chapter, Kyoya gets to see the designs he’s put so much faith in, and James agrees to join the “boy toys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you once again to my wonderful friend kaz for proofreading and moral support
> 
> also thank you to whoever gave me kudos! 
> 
> I originally only planned for this to go about six chapters, but editing it keeps giving me ideas, so it’ll probably run for a while. 
> 
> thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy!

Before anyone catches my stare, I snap back into reality with only a vague blush. From laughing. Obviously. The hell else would it be? 

Everyone starts eating, and it’s nice to let the twins and Haruhi carry the conversations. None of them have their “host” attitudes on, which is a relief. I think I’d kill myself if we were all in public like that. 

Tamaki and Honey start making plans about what they want to see at the expo- leave it to the blonds to get excited. Haruhi starts telling them about which floors have what, and where there’s housewares, or books, or candy. It’s also lucky most of them, minus Haruhi, are completely fluent in English, because the things I have to shop for are weird to try and translate. I can follow conversations easily, like watching a game from the outside. But *in* the game?

Kyoya relays what I’m saying, word-for-word, to Haruhi, who puts it in words they understand. Guess cause their experiences are different- must be nice to never lift a finger. Class is apparently also a barrier in this. Weird. But they do understand everything I’m saying, even if they aren’t sure which item I’m talking about. By the time our takeaway containers are empty, the boys understand cakeboards and frosting-bag-tips, modeling chocolate, and spring-form pans. Honey, not surprisingly, knew the most about what you need to bake a cake. More importantly, though, Haruhi has told me where in the baking section I need to look for the tools and ingredients I need at a discount, instead of the big shops where they overcharge. 

We’re done eating though, and I ask Mori for help carrying our trays back to the restaurants. Kaoru pushes Kyoya off the booth to help, and I have to catch him. Then Kyoya gives him a lecture about behaving in public while Mori and I start to gather the trash. 

“Kyoya, lay off, he’ll remember next time.”

I give Kaoru the “you’re-lucky-I-made-him-stop” look and dump a tray into his arms. 

“C’mon guys, we have to get these rounded up so I can discuss design. Back in a sec, kids!”

Tamaki stands up. 

“I’m older than you!”

I laugh. Just a little. It’s hard to help- he sounds so child-like. 

“Suoh, firstly, no, you aren’t, we’re the same age, and secondly, act it once in a while”

There’s a shocked gasp as Hikaru and Haruhi break into snickers, and I lead Kaoru and Mori off with our trays before I get anyone into serious trouble. I’ll apologize to him when we get back. 

By the time the three of us have returned, Kyoya has produced a notebook out of some-fucking-where and is going over pages of what looks like budgeting- endless columns of numbers. Kaoru settles back into his booth as I apologize to Tamaki about calling him a child, but he seems unfazed, only swinging an arm around me that I try to duck and telling me 

“Never you worry, sir!”

What is he from, the Victorian era? It’s a nice feeling, though, and I smile in spite of myself. I plop down across from Kyoya and pull my bag around in front of me. I know the cultural norms are different here- I could’ve left it on my chair this whole time we ate, but what the hell. Old habits die hard. 

“Doesn’t really matter, anyway.” I think, as I pull out my sketchbook and shake a pen out of my case. I set the pad down in front of me and turn to the page from today, read over the lists at the top again. Kyoya’s got his fountain pen out like last time, and it looks like he’s doing sums in the margins of his notebook. I guess I can handle the boys. 

“Hey! Guys!”

The conversation pauses, and I shove my pen behind my ear. 

“So, Kyoya appears to be doing my budget. Then, of course, there are other negotiations I have to address with him and probably Tamaki. I have some designs to show them, and then we need to go over ingredients and supplies. If you guys want to go shopping for a bit, or leave, or whatever, that’ll be fine. I am going to say that you should stick with Haruhi if you want to shop, so where you go is sort of up to him. If you want to stick around to see me and Kyoya arrange my conditions, I have no issue with that.”

I pause for a moment and look down at Kyoya, who peeked up from his book to watch me talk. 

“I’m sure it’ll be…”

I look back over the table full of boys and smile. 

Although it’s closer to a smirk.

“...interesting.”

Kyoya straightens up a bit. 

“Tamaki, do you want to go shopping?”

Tamaki looks at me, then Kyoya, then Haruhi, then Kyoya again. 

“Can I?”

Kyoya sighs. 

“Sure. I think I can handle Mr. Lysander here.”

I turn to Haruhi. 

“Haruhi, you willing to take the rest of the boys shopping?”

He shrugs. 

“No different than the normal stuff I have to do.”

“If any of them give you a hard time, you just come back here and let me know, alright?”

Tamaki takes a step behind Haruhi, who just laughs. 

“Deal!”

“Alright. Come back in-“

I check my watch. 2:03. 

“Come back in an hour, so about 3:05, and after that I’m gonna go buy the stuff I need for my cakes.”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and then another of good-byes as Haruhi leads the other boys off toward the stalls. 

I turn towards Kyoya. 

“So, Mr. Otoori. What’s the plan?”

“You join to serve customers food and drink.”

“And our negotiations about me baking? You don’t wanna see my designs or anything?”

“Of course I do. However, I was thinking- the time overlap it takes you for these cakes would be impossible to balance with the time we need you to be serving our clients. And as you can tell, we already have quite the budget for sweets. So, my current thought is that we use some of our current staff to work out your recipes and designs-“

I cut him off. 

“Wait wait wait wait wait- Hold on. Hold on. You have a private staff to bake sweets for the club?”

“Naturally. Why wouldn’t we? They even have a catering kitchen at Ouran specifically for all the club caterers to use.”

“Fucking rich people. Of course. Then, follow up question, is there a cooking club?”

“Naturally.”

“And you never thought to pay them to make some of your cakes?”

There’s a moment where his face is unreadable. 

“No.”

“Understandable, I guess. And they certainly couldn’t produce enough cake for all the clients. However- I’m sure you have a number on how many cakes Honey eats in a week?”

“Yes.”

“So why not pay the cooking club to make the cakes for him? They’re supplied with ingredients, so you don’t have to worry about that. It would cost less than professional caterers. And it would boost the cooking club- not that they’d need it at Ouran, but that’s a steady cashflow for them.”

“That *would* be more cost-efficient, if I can handle the contracting well.”

“You might not even need to do that. If they have surplus from what they make at the club, you could either buy that for very cheap, or you could get em for free. I’ve always hated how people can throw perfectly good food away.” 

“And if that takes care of a portion of our costs, we could *definitely* manage to incorporate your designs on a professional level.”

He’s scribbling in his notebook again, like he hasn’t just told me the best thing I’ve heard in a year. 

“No, no, hold on Kyoya. The professional level? As in I give my designs and a color palette to someone who makes them for me?”

“Are there other professional levels?”

“No, I reckon not. I’m just surprised- you put a lot of stock into my designs given that you’ve only seen a single three-tier cake.”

“Care to show me your designs?”

“Well. I’m not the most experienced. But I did draw up some very basic ones this morning after I booked your sessions. Mostly the normal western tea-party flavors and designs, nothing too loud.” 

I turn the sketchbook to him and try not to look worried as he examines them. He only spends a moment on today’s. I pull a toothpick from the box in my side pocket and pop it into my mouth. He’s flipping pages, which I don’t like. It’s only a design book, but it alternates between clothes and inventions and cakes in a lightweight pencil and broad, even strokes. Some of my completed creations even have photos pasted to the papers- grainy shots of boats or chain-reaction inventions, various outfits I'd designed and sewn, whatever. Mainly cakes with bright, technicolor themes- and cans of RockStar or Monster in the background. 

Others just have check marks at the top of the page. I hardly even remember what my past designs are; it’s been so impossible to bake or build in Lexi’s apartment that my book’s been put fully aside for a month or two. 

“I was right to be confident in your designs, James.”

“Oh, were you?”

“Absolutely. You show real promise. And these dates only go back a year.”

“Yeah, well, I only started baking a year ago.”

“And you’re quite good at it. Like I said, we can get a lot of your ideas reworked for on a higher level.”

“You mean all I have to do is join and serve clients, and you can have my designs made- for, like, an audience?”

“Well they’d be served to people, if that's what you mean.”

“I’m in. I’m very in.”

“Just like that?”

“Absolutely just like that, Kyoya! You kiddin’ me?”

“And you’ll be a waiter for the club?”

“If you can re-teach me table etiquette. Plus whatever else I need to learn to not get your clients panties in a twist.”

He laughs again, soft and easy. 

“That can definitely be arranged.”

“And this means I can just send you designs and they’ll get made?”

“Certainly. You could probably even meet with some of the decorators and supervise.”

“Geez. Rich people. I could get used to that suggestion.” 

“Join up and I can make it a promise.”

“You already made your deal, Kyoya. So quit selling.” 

“Fine then. If you can write me your recipe cards, I can set your budget, you can buy your supplies if we don’t have it, and I’ll have some of your designs sent off to our caterers for Monday.” 

“Then scoot over and let me show you the design sets I have. I still have no clue what you want from me, and if the club does different theme weeks you’ll want different flavors, but...” 

I trail off. 

He shuts his notebook and scoots along the bench, into where Kaoru was sitting earlier, and I take his seat. My jackets’ been on this whole time, so I slide it off and place it in my now empty chair with my bag. Kyoya settles into place next to me and pulls a sheet of paper out of the back of his notebook before closing it.

He unfolds it as I thumb through and bookmark some of my design pages. Then he’s just sort of peering down at my book, watching me pretend to ignore him and debate over which themes and styles would be the most practical to serve to clients. 

I close the book and don’t look up. 

“So, then, Otoori. What’s that paper?” 

He clears his throat, and then there’s a glasses push that reminds me my own are slipping down. So I tap those back up my nose as he brings his pen down. 

“Here we have the full list of school kitchen equipment in case you do want to bake on your own time, and then this would be your suggested budget. However, I suppose if we give you more control, especially for seasonal events…”

He trails off and starts writing again. I let the slow skritch-skratch of his pen fill the air for a while before I cut in. 

“Otoori, get to the point. What exactly am I doing besides serving customers and sending you designs? There’s an implication here I’m not sure I get.”

“Well, see, we need to keep a portion of the food budget for plain cakes and other items. Then, there’s the budget we have for special occasions, which, seeing these ideas, I think we can put you in charge of.”

I lean over a little bit and look at his scribbling. Our shoulders are touching, but I don’t move back. I just watch his columns of numbers. 

“And that means that if you can keep us well caught up with good designs, we can put you in charge of a large group of the catering staff. About 70% actually. Of course, there’ll be repeats of cakes to fill quantities and you will need to make fresh designs for club occasions. We can also assign someone on the staff to do the shopping under your guidance. Which, after everything, gives us-“

He circles a number so sloppy and ink blotted I don’t know what it says. 

“650,150 yen.”

I startle back in my seat a little. 

“For what, a month?” 

“No, that’s every week.” 

Shocked, bug-eyed silence. He picks up my design book again, spreads it between us, and starts to look at my bookmarks. My voice is low. 

“Kyoya- that’s. A lot of money.”

“And?”

“Nothing, just saying. So how many cakes do you need in a week?”

“Well, factoring in your advice to buy student-made cakes for honey, and with a solid portion of excess in case they disagree, we need about 60 weekly. It’s closer to 50- 52.6, to be precise, but sometimes things happen.”

“Alright, so then-“

I dissolve into my own math. I am not good at math. I stop. 

“What, so you need 60 double tiers weekly? And that's a box of mix per, plus the ingredients for icing and the extracts, syrup, whatever. And food coloring. However, I’m certain that you’d been planning to hand me control of the design staff at least before we came here, so did you think to bring me a list of anything they already have?”

“Yes, and comparing it to your ingredient lists over here, the only thing we don’t have would be these syrups you use in icing and the box mixes you’ve mentioned. That and strawberry extract.”

“I only ever worked with strawberry jam back home. It made the cakes really dense, but it was really good. I’ll want to experiment with strawberry extract before they’re made big-scale.” 

“There’s time for that.” 

“Great. So then, you approve my designs, I send them off to the catering staff, and, what? That’s it? I just go shopping now and you take notes of what we need to replace each week? No, wait, you’re rich. You’ll have the staff do that.”

“Pretty much. You’ll be given control of our baking staff, so you can just give them your designs and the recipes you want, they use the budget and go shopping for you, and then you serve it to the guests.” 

“And my budget for ingredients, I assume, is after the staff have been paid?”

“Naturally.”

“I won’t need it all. But do you want to pick out the designs for next week?” 

“Sure. Show me the ones you drew up today.” 

I open back to my designs from this morning and push the book to be between us on the table. I notice that our shoulders are still touching, but as I lean away a bit, he leans back so that they touch again. He presses a hand to the design in the bottom-right hand corner of the page and taps it a couple times. It’s all in black and white, but I’ve labeled it with the colors I want. 

It’s just a two tier, but when you cut into the cake, there are marbled black-and-white swirls. Shock contrast to the light pink frosting base and pale green detailing. 

“Like cutting into grayscale…”

Kyoya’s voice trails off. 

“Exactly like that. I figured you would want something sort of simple for the first days, and this way I can just switch up the colors and flavors and keep it interesting. See, over here-“

I move his hand off the design book and show him another sketch, closer to the middle of the page. 

“This one is lavender-lemon themed. Lavender icing and lemon cake. It’s a favorite with my family, although I can’t stand lavender.”

It’s a good cake design, but I’ve done it before. Kyoya doesn’t know that though, it was one of the first cakes I ever made- before my design book, even. Lavender sprigs in miniature on each slice, with bright yellow piping on a white base. Then, the inside: no fancy swirls, just-

“James, why is it marked as sky blue if the cake is flavored lemon?” 

“It’d be too much yellow for one cake if I had dyed it yellow, and if I'm adding my own extract to white cake mix, I can pick any color I want, so I choose blue. I don’t know. It compliments, right?”

“Certainly. Just an uncommon choice.” 

“So then these and maybe one more would satisfy for my starting week?” 

“Yeah. Then-“

Kyoya stops to pull out his phone and checks the time. 2:59. He sets it back down on the table, and pulls my designs in front of him. 

“Then I guess you can start shopping for the last few things we need. I’ll have a car bring the ingredients to the kitchen the caterers use.” 

“How will they know what my designs look like?” 

“Easy, take a photo of this page and send it to me. I’ll get it to them.”

“Fine. I’ll do that, and you pick out the last one you want to see made.”

I work my phone out of my pocket and lean up a little in my seat, then Kyoya moves his hand off the paper. 

Click-click. 

Photo taken. 

Then I flop back down into my seat and forward it to him. I hear the notification sound from his phone as he points out a design in the top-right-hand corner, across from my shopping lists. 

“This one. It looks very nice. It’s got some subtle changes from our normal ones. ”

The cake is a one-tier; plain vanilla cake with almond icing and orange for decoration. It’s relatively plain- a white base layer with orange zest up the sides, and black icing detailing on the bottom layer as a border. The garnish is just a single orange-peel curl on the wide end of each slice.

I pull my pen from behind my ear and put tiny X’s by the three designs we’re using. No repeats. As I do, I hear Haruhi’s voice, calling to us. 

“Hey! James! Kyoya! Come see what everyone bought!”

Kyoya scoots away from me a little and looks up to see, which sends a momentary pang of what I think is envy through me. He folds up the paper as I shut my design book and push off the bench so we can leave. 

I offer him my hand to stand up. He takes it, pulls himself up, and stands behind me while I gather up my things. I pull my jacket back on, making sure it doesn’t catch on my fishnet sleeves. I put my design book back in my bag and throw the crossbody strap across me. 

We cross away to the edge of the food court, where everyone else is waiting with their arms full of shopping bags, and I’m still thinking about how warm his hand was in mine, even if it was only a second. 


	4. in which the starving artist is incredibly impolite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> james has a temper that kyoya can’t quite outsmart- which makes for an interesting time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone who celebrated had a great Three King’s day! 
> 
> I’m deciding on uploading three times a week, on mondays, wednesdays, and fridays. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

The boys have behaved as airhead, wealthy boys do-  recklessly.

At least they can afford it. 

Tamaki appears to have appointed himself Haruhi’s benefactor, and stands at his right hand with both arms brimming in shopping bags and boxes, smiling. 

His host personality seems much more subdued than his real one- he’s positively beaming. 

“Hello men! We went shopping and I bought Haruhi some things!”

Kyoya’s been eyeing up the group the entire time- the twins have bags too, but Tamaki definitely has the most. Haruhi takes one from him and opens it to pull out a cable-knit, charcoal grey sweater that looks so expensively made I’m a little bit afraid to touch it. As he holds it out for me and Kyoya to see, he notices me gawking. 

“I told him not to, I swear I did. But he was thoroughly convinced that if I said I was a boy, I needed, and I quote: ‘Proper boy school clothes’. Like they didn’t give me a uniform on my first day as a host.” 

He laughs a little as Tamaki looks on proudly, and I’ll admit- it is a touch bit funny. In my mind's eye I can see Tamaki pulling him around the designer stores upstairs, where neither of them know how to behave or shop. As he’s folding that away, Hikaru and Kaoru step forward and pull out cashmere turtlenecks with ¾ sleeves in complementary colors: one is gold, the other blue. Hikaru holds one out for me to touch, and as I rub the impossibly soft sleeve, Kaoru speaks. 

“We weren’t going to buy anything. But, one of our mother’s former interns had a boutique on the fourth floor, and she was always nice to us, even if she did try and keep us in contrasting colors so she could tell us apart. So we got these.”

I knew their mother was a designer, so it followed that she had interns, but I didn’t know the interns would end up working solo. Still, though, to keep an upper-class boutique going, she had to be quite crafty. Good for her. 

They shift back so Haruhi can show me some more of what Tamaki bought for him, and as he shows me wool-lined blazers, linen slacks, and the half-dozen other things they bought with Tamaki’s weekly allowance- fucking rich people- Kyoya pulls Tamaki a few meters away. I’m still paying attention to Haruhi, but my ears strain to catch their conversation. Not even to be rude- I just like to know things. Plus, there’s a good chance they’re talking about me. Something about “ten percent”, “agreed”, “the club” “fascinating designs”, and “who… be”. I know they’re talking about me, because Tamaki might mean well for everyone, but he can’t whisper for shit. 

Ten percent.

Ten percent of what- 

Of course. 

Of - FUCKING - course. 

The uniforms at Ouran are so expensive I can’t afford their damned thread. 650,150 yen is an incredibly low number for 70% of the most profitable club’s weekly sweets budget. I’m certain that *just* for Honey, their monthly sweets budget is in the millions. They assigned me ten percent of the budget. At best. Or was it ten percent of the staff? No, certainly the budget. Their staff would be overwhelmed to make so many copies of my design at only that capacity. So then, he lied to me. Smart, but I can’t say I appreciate it. He thinks like me. I hate it. 

Haruhi seems to have realized I’m zoned out of his story about trying to navigate the shops. I pulled out a toothpick and I’m flicking it like a cigarette, staring at my boots. Same stims as ever. He pauses, and I zone back in at his silence to the pressure of five sets of eyes on me. I jolt back to life.

“Oh, Haruhi, I’d zoned out. Terribly sorry. One minute. I need to speak with Kyoya about something I think is important. Your clothes look great. Don’t get mugged.”

Kyoya jolts back to reality the same way I do when he hears his name. There’s a touch of fear in his eyes- or surprise, but it’s hard to notice unless you’re looking properly. 

“Whatever’s up? I thought we had finished your negotiations?”

I start towards him with sturdy strides and grab him by the bicep. 

“Nearly. But there’s something I’ve just realized. Walk with me a moment.”

I turn around, barely remembering that there are other people and I need an ounce of politeness. I take the grit out of my voice. 

“Haruhi, terribly sorry about dragging him off like this. I keep leaving you to manage the other boys. Fold up what you have left. Kyoya and I will be back in under five minutes.”

I turn to look at Hikaru, and I put out the cheeriest smile years of community theater can give me. 

“Then we’ll go shopping for my ingredients, right on?”

He smiles back, excited. 

“Right on!”

Mori has a laser-gaze to match mine on, and he’s staring at me. His eyes are protective. Who is he worried for- me or Kyoya? 

I ignore it and turn about-face. Then, I march off down the rows of shops with a tight grip on Kyoya’s arm. 

We’re fifteen seconds down the line of stalls when I begin to speak. 

“Otoori. I know you only gave me ten percent of the budget, yet you told me you were giving me seventy.”

His steps are still in perfect time with mine, but his head pivots at me, bug-eyed and staring.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. 

“And it’s okay. I don’t mind having a low budget, especially by rich-people-standards. I don’t need it. However-“

I turn my head to look at him. He’s still staring, but it feels less fearful. Our eyes lock, and mine narrow. 

“- I won’t stand for being lied to. If the portion of budget I get is ten percent, tell me it is ten percent. I won’t use it all. I’ll hardly put a dent in it. I don’t want or need a false sense of power or wealth. But saving the club money causes me no issue. So-“

We’ve reached the end of the line of shops, and I stop dead where I’m standing. I pull Kyoya around in front of me, and feel lucky for a moment that my boots make me a little bit taller than him. I shove my toothpick into my mouth and lean up over him. My hands grab his collar in white-knuckle grips. 

“Don’t. Lie to me. Understand, Otoori? I don’t like being tricked. I won’t stand for it. You will be open with me about this, or I will leave. I would rather design for my own enjoyment in honesty than be lied to and have an audience.”

My toothpick twitches as my jaw grinds a bit. He’s silent, flushed, staring up at me. 

“Kyoya. Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes. You’ll have complete honesty-“

He pauses for a deep breath, then sort of balks. 

“you’ll have complete honesty about it.”

I realize our chests are pressed together and that my hands are shaky fists in his shirt. 

Oh. I’d better stop all this. 

I blush back down at him and let go, more embarrassed at my outburst than he is. 

“Good. Uhm- I’m sorry about wrinkling your shirt.”

It’s not really wrinkled, but, still. Apologies are a good idea. 

He’s still fire-cheeked. It looks like the blush even spread down his neck. Sky above, what’s wrong with me? What am I, a child having a fit? 

I stare at him. He stares back, but he shrinks a little under my gaze. He’s the least put together I think I’ve ever seen him. Odd. He seemed impenetrable to fear just yesterday. 

“It- erm. It’s okay. I’d hate to be lied to as well. Your budget *is* only ten percent of our previous one, not seventy. I did a check on the type of materials you might have been using, so I lowballed you. You still control 70% of our catering team. I figured if you could make them taste good, then cheap cakes were as good as fancy ones and we could save money there.” 

I grab him just above the wrist, much more gently this time, and turn back towards the row of the stands. I start to walk, and he walks with me. 

“That’s about what I’d figured. We can take this day-by-day, alright?”

There’s a pause after I talk, but he doesn’t pull away from my hand, so I let the silence linger and keep my hand on his wrist. 

The quiet between us stretches, but he doesn’t pull away from me. 

His blush is fading back to nothing, but his cheeks are still a little rosy. He looks great. I should really stop thinking that so much. 

I let go when I notice the boys in the distance again, but I do it slowly. My fingers ease down his wrist, lightly tracing over where his wrist and palm meet. Our fingers brush for a moment before I realize what the hell I’m doing and move my hand away. 

“One day at a time.” He says, as their chattering figures grow larger in front of us. “That’ll do nicely.” 

We walk in silence as I think about the fact that he had nothing to gain, yet kept his hand close to mine.

That is, until Honey runs up to meet us, excited as ever. He’s literally skipping- does he have ADHD or is it just a constant sugar rush? 

“Hey! Hey! Haruhi has all his clothes ready! Are you ready to go shopping?”

I crouch down to his height and high-five him. 

“For sure, big guy. You run back and get Mori to round up the twins, eh?”

“Alright, then we can go and look at sweets!!”

Honey goes skipping back again- he even turns a cartwheel. Mori scoops him up in one arm and hands him their shopping bag to hold. 

Kyoya has stood by me while I talked to Honey, and we make the last stretch up to the others together too. 

Haruhis’ folded his clothes back up and put them in their bags, even managed to wrestle a few packages away from Tamaki to carry them himself. Tamaki steps up in front of the group a bit to greet us.

“So, you get it all arranged? I don’t want to have any issues when the club opens on Monday!” 

Kyoya’s outside demeanor falls back down again- he’s just as calm and collected as this morning. Typical. 

“Everything’s in order, Tamaki. Don’t worry about it.”

Mori’s still got a laser-gaze on me, but I meet his eyes and it fades. He nods. I’m not sure why we’re nodding but it seems right to nod back, so I do. 

Honey doesn’t seem to notice all this, and neither does anyone else. So I step up to the other boys and face the twins. 

“Ready to go shopping? I only need to pick up a few things for the catering teams, so I want to look over some equipment for my own use. I had to leave all mine back home.”

Kaoru throws his bag over his shoulder, the way I’ve seen older boys carry their schoolbags, and he turns to me, puzzled.

“Back home?”

I look around where we stand and realize that we’re blocking the crowd. 

“C’mon, I’ll explain on the way. Haruhi, you know this place better than I do. You wanna take the lead?”

“For sure. C’mon guys, they’re up the escalators.”

Kyoya gets pulled up front by Tamaki, and we fall into two scraggly lines. Haruhi and Tamaki first, then Kyoya and Hikaru. Honey’s still cradled in Mori’s arm, so Mori just walks by himself in front of me and Kaoru. 

“Kaoru, I’m certain that you’ve wondered how I’m not completely fluent in Japanese and yet I’m here? I’m an exchange student, from America. That’s where ‘Back Home’ is. The only two ‘baking’ things I brought with me was the cake carrier you saw yesterday and an icing tube from, like, the 70’s. I used the carrier to hold clothes on the flight over here. I only had one suitcase and I needed the space, so…”

Kaoru laughs.

“Couldn’t you have just bought another suitcase?”

We step off the escalator, and I look up and notice Mori seems to be listening. 

“Not really. My mom wanted to, but we flew my bags by weight, and the carrier was the lightest way to do it. Plus the most convenient, as then I’d have something to use for baking when I unpacked. So I put my school books in my carry-on, my informal clothes in the cake carrier, and my fancy clothes in my suitcase. It all worked out fine anyway. It made it easy to get to things at my layovers.”

“What’s a layover?”

“Sky above- You rich people are ridiculous, know that? I’ll tell you later. I think we’re near the shops I want.”

Haruhi’s stopped in front of a line of stalls brimming with single-package sweets. 

“Hey! Guys! These are good places for snacks, and I know Honey mentioned sweets earlier, so do you guys wanna check these out while James finds what he needs?”

Honey leaps out of Mori’s arms with an enthusiastic:

“Yes please!! Please can we, Haruhi? Please???”

Haruhi looks back at Mori and Tamaki. 

“How about you guys stay with Honey and buy him his sweets? The rest of us can scoot up ahead to those three stalls where they sell ingredients.”

Hikaru looks back at Kaoru and they seem to nonverbally agree. In unison, as always. 

“We want to shop with James.”

I take the toothpick out of my mouth and flick the end of it. 

“Then let’s go. I need strawberry extract, lavender and almond syrup, a bag of navel oranges, and about sixty boxes of white cake mix. I can carry all of it, don’t worry, but I hope they have enough.”

I adjust my bag a little and start marching towards the stalls. And, minus Honey, Mori, and Tamaki, we all start walking. Haruhi falls in next to me as I scan over the shops.

“James, what do you need with sixty boxes of cake mix if they only want you to ice two cakes a day?”

I pause in front of a shop selling tiny bottles of fruit oils and extracts, and start to look around at the racks. 

“Our arrangement has changed. I’m to serve customers, and in turn, my designs will be made by the club’s catering team.”

I pause a moment, but the clerk pays no attention to us. He’s stacking bottles of syrup-flavoring and rum. 

“Hey. Twins. Come and help me look for strawberry extract- I need to find a small bottle of it so I can test it’s potency at home. Then I need a bigger bottle of it for the staff to use. I’d rather buy it now and be wrong than have them buy some stupid, overpriced one. And if you see pomegranate, tell me- my aunt loves it, I’ll buy it on my own.”

Kaoru finds the pomegranate, but it takes both me and Hikaru a minute to find strawberry. I call for the clerk and he bags up a larger jug of strawberry extract from under the counter. I ask him to show me the syrups they’ve got, and he doesn’t have the brand I use, but he points out a stall three-down that should. Kyoya finally speaks- stone-cold as ever, and he insists I can buy the pomegranate extract on my budget. 

There’s a minute of us fighting over whether or not I should, and once he wears my pride down, I turn to the clerk and start to haggle. I work him down from 4,800 yen to 4,725, and then, finally, 4,655. I thank him and take my bag as Kyoya pulls out the club’s card and pays. I take the moment to tuck my miniature bottles of extract into my schoolbag, then grab the paper shopping bag the strawberry extract jug was in. 

As we turn to leave, the other boys catch up to us, Honey back on Mori’s shoulders with a bag full of rock-candy sticks. Tamaki’s bought a sampler bag of cookies, too, and we get an earful about their adventures. As they regale us with it, I slip away from the crowd and buy the syrups I need. I’m only a few stands away, but it’s enough distance that they don’t hear me talking with the vendor. 

I’m bagging up my purchases when Mori seems to appear out of nowhere. He’s still laden with packages, but Honey isn’t with him. He doesn’t say anything as I nestle the syrup bottles in with the extract jug. But as I turn to call for Kyoya, he plants a hand on my shoulder. 

I look up at him, and he spends a beat looking down at me. He murmurs, in a quiet, deep voice to me. 

“Be kind to him, James. The club needs him, but we like you.”

Now what in the fuck is that supposed to mean? 

I figure it out when he calls Kyoya over to pay. Mori is the only one who seems to have noticed but- oh. He means- could Mori really mean that Kyoya seems to like me? 

No, I decide. He couldn’t. But there’s not too much harm in wondering. 

The rest of the club crowds up behind us, and I lead the march down the shop stalls towards the fruit vendors; and I pick up a bag of navel oranges with the brightest peels they have. 

We finally get to the stalls with box mixes, and I scan over them all until I see the white-cake ones. I have to lecture Tamaki into putting the armload of boxes he picked up back down, but Hikaru helps him shelve them again and the club sets off with a box of the specific brand we want. 

We have to go around to the back of the stall and find the mix boxes in a mess of pallets. I end up having to load the mix that the caterers need into a much larger crate and settling it on one of my shoulders. Kyoya pulls out the club debit card one last time, and then with Haruhi and I in the lead, we troop out of the Expo and into the park sort of area outside. 

The weight of the crate on my shoulder is manageable, but it’s an awkward sort of thing to carry, so I set it down on a bench and stretch. 

“Hey, Kyoya- how am I gonna get this to school? Or wherever the staff cook. Especially if they need this for the week.”

He’s punching numbers with a ferocity on his cell, and as it rings, he turns to me. 

“I’m having one of the house staff drive it over to the catering kitchen. Write out their instructions and put it in the crate.”

He walks off down the sidewalk and leans against a lamppost a good ways away from the rest of us. 

“...House staff? Damned rich people…”

I turn back to the bench where I’d dropped the crate, and the rest of the club is still there. Everyone but Haruhi and Mori are playing with a beanbag they bought. I sit down next to my crate and Haruhi crosses over and sits with me. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles at me and turns back to watching the twins and Tamaki get their asses kicked at hacky sack by Honey. 

I open my design book and pull out half a page from the back. Then I start detailing out how to make the icing I use and then their instructions. They’re professionals, so this can’t be hard for them to do. If anything, they might be upset to take orders from a kid. 

I finish their instructions and shove the sheet of paper between two boxes so that it sticks up to be noticeable.

There. Please do not fuck this up. Thank you, caterers. 

I stand and put the crate back on my shoulder. The hell’s Kyoya? He’s the one with the car for this. 

He’s talking through the window of a black 4-door car, so I pick up the bag of oranges and the bag with the syrups from where I’d put them down to write and walk over to him. 

“Hey, is the car you called?”

He straightens up and turns around toward me. 

“Yeah. You can put the stuff in the trunk and he’ll get it to the catering kitchen. They already have that photo of your designs, so they can get started as soon as they have materials and your recipes.” 

I grunt agreement and walk around to the trunk. It’s an auto-open, so the driver pushes the button and it lifts by itself. I pile everything in as he finishes talking to the driver and walks back towards the rest of the club. Once I’ve walked back up towards his window, I thank the man for driving and hand him a 100 yen note. He pulls off and I walk back over to the group. 

I check the time- 4:56. It’ll be getting dark soon. The boy’s hacky sack game has ended and everyone’s sort of calmed down. 

Tamaki seems to realize this, so he picks up the shopping bags and walks over to Haruhi.

“Haruhi, it’s very late. We need to go home. I’ll call you a car.”

Haruhi’s stood up from the bench and is grouped with the other boys, so we hear his response. 

“There’s no need, Tamaki. I’m only a few blocks from here, so I can walk.”

“And what if you get kidnapped by commoners and sold into slavery?”

“I *am* a commoner. And it’s only a few blocks! I don’t need a car!”

Hikaru interrupts them. 

“Well, Kaoru and I are calling one. Tamaki’s right, it’ll get dark soon, and we’re expected to have dinner with our parents tonight.”

Kaoru shrugs and pulls out his phone to call. 

“Fine by me.”

He dials up his driver and steps away from the group a moment to call. 

Tamaki’s probably not going to let Haruhi leave here without him or in one of his cars, but…

“Wait, Tamaki- Haruhi has a point. You don’t need a car if you’re so close by. He’ll be fine. I’m gonna walk, anyway. Haruhi’s a big kid, he can handle himself.”

Kyoya looks up from his cell. 

“Surely you don’t intend to walk the whole way home? If you were far enough to need to skate this morning, you certainly won’t make it before night hits.”

I spin back towards him. He’s right, but I don’t trust whatever this is. 

“The hell else am I gonna do? Sleep on the street?”

I feel my face twist up, in spite of myself. 

His face is unchanging and unreadable. Still impossible. Still unreachable. 

“James, we all have personal drivers. We can get you a car.”

“It’s okay. Besides, I still have my lunch money, so I was thinking I’d stop in somewhere. My aunt is out, so it’s not like I’ve got anyone to burn the midnight oil and wait for me.” 

“That’s not safe, is it? You’re going home to an empty house at night?”

“Relax, Otoori. It’s no different than school. And besides, I need the exercise.”

“I’m calling you a car. Someone needs to go with you.”

“Worrywart.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I start talking before he gets the chance. 

“Actually- if you’re so determined I need a cab, let me walk you home and you can call a driver over to your place. I get to annoy you, you get to sleep easy knowing I took a cab. Maybe you can even figure out who I am a little bit- you’ve had trouble with giving me a background check, yeah?”

Haruhi laughs a bit behind me, and I hear him turn and speak to Tamaki.

“Wait, that would work out fine for us too, Tamaki. You can walk me home and then call a car to get you from my place.”

They start talking in hushed tones together. I look over my shoulder at them, then back at Mr. Budget. 

“See? Two solutions in one, yeah?”

He glances around the circle, looking for an excuse. 

None appear. 

“I suppose that’ll be alright. It’s a long walk, though.”

Silence for a few moments, then Mori speaks before I do. 

“If everything’s arranged, Honey and I will be heading back now. We have a dinner with the dojo students.”

Honey has some vague protests about wanting to walk home, but Mori’s already had a car sent on the way, and they head off toward the street to wait for it. 

Tamaki insists on waiting for everyone else to leave, so the six of us left sit on a pair of benches and have a paper-scissors-rock tournament until a slick black car pulls up and a chauffeur opens the door for the twins.

There's a mess of good-byes and making sure everyone has the correct bag, and then they’re gone. Tamaki and Haruhi set off, laden with packages, for his apartment, and then it’s just Kyoya and I, standing in the middle of the plaza. 


	5. in which there is an accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyoya agrees to let James walk him home- and things, naturally, go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of blood and light injuries, as well as (non SH) scars. 
> 
> Thank you Kaz for proofreading!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who’s left kudos on my work, please enjoy this chapter. And for anyone else who just happens to pass by, I hope you enjoy it too!
> 
> Without further ado, here we go!

It’s warm for being so late in the year. The last few moments of sunshine are soft against my face. 

“Kyoya, what time is it?”

He shakes back his sleeve and checks an expensive looking silver wristwatch I hadn’t noticed till now. 

“5:13. You ready to head out? We need to hurry.”

He’s right. The sunlight is fading behind the buildings in front of us. 

“I’d say yes, but if you’re really so worried about nightfall, we have to skate it. Do you know how to rollerskate? Or rollerblade? Do they have roller rinks in Japan?”

“No, no, yes. How do you plan to skate it with only one pair of skates?”

I don’t answer him. 

“Sit down again, will you?”

He hesitates a moment as I click the locks on my messenger bag open. Then he sits back down on our bench. I pull my rollerblades out of my bag, then my clip-on skates. 

“Here. See? Two pairs of skates.”

“Well then, which one’s mine?”

I pick up my rollerblades and take a minute to look at them. Black-and-blue aggro skates with laces and cinch straps.

“See where there’s a break in the wheels? That break is supposed to help you do tricks, but it also takes a while to get used to, and if you want the sturdier option, you can wear my clip-on ones.”

“You’re forgetting that I’m not wearing boots like you are. I don’t have shoes that work with clip-on skates like that.”

I pause a moment. 

“You could wear my boots? We look like we have the same shoe size anyway.”

He’s probably thinking this is more trouble than it’s worth, but I start untying my shoes, so he kicks his off too. 

I set them down in front of him and he warily puts them on. Might as well put my skates on then, right? 

We sit there in silence a bit, tying our shoes on, till I realize that he’s struggling with the ladder laces. 

I don’t look up, but I start talking. 

“Ladder laces are quite an interesting style, actually. They’re threaded under each other. You have to put the lace through the eyelet, then through the loop it creates on the other side to get the pattern. I read about where they originated once, but I don’t remember it.”

Silence. But I can see his fingers flitting around much faster, and he gets my boots on. Then he picks up my  clip-on skates and starts fitting them onto his boots. Trying to, anyway. 

I pick up his shoes and carefully put them into my bag; they’re just slip-ons but for all I know, they cost as much as a house. I straighten up and watch him struggle for a moment, but his face is heavy- not a chance of asking for help. 

Proud bastard. 

“Kyoya, if you need help, ask me for it.”

Another moment of silence as I stand up and fix my bag. 

“I don’t know how to get these on your boots.”

I kneel down and start to strap the skates onto him. 

“It’s easy. There’s a clamp on each end that grips around the edge of the boot. They’re set to your shoe size. You push it on-“

I pause to knock the end into place.

“and then cinch this strap. See?”

I’m not looking at his face, so I assume there’s a pause where he nods and then realizes I can’t see him. 

“Yes. Doesn’t it hurt your fingers, to pry them on and off each time?”

“Not really. You only get pinched the first few times, when you’re learning. And I have enough calluses on my hands that even if I did get pinched, I’d probably be alright.”

I’ve pulled the other one on and cinched it up by now, so I stand and offer him my hand. He takes it, stands, and immediately falls forward into me. I instinctively make a ’T’ with my feet and spin us so that if he falls, he won’t hit the bench. As I do, he shoves back, and almost pulls me down with him. We look like a pair of dancers- like I’m dipping him in a routine. I allow myself a half-second of enjoyment. 

“Careful! Careful, okay? Here. You’re gonna stand up, I’m gonna stand next to you, so I can catch you if you fall. Then we’re gonna start skating towards your place, alright?”

He’s blushing again, but whether it’s fear or embarrassment I don’t know. 

“C’mon. Like this.”

I pick him up by the elbow and get him to shaky feet. 

The hand I don’t have on his elbow instinctively goes to his back, and I roll him around next to me. 

He takes a shaky breath and steadies himself. 

“It’s left. Through the neighborhoods and then a few turns.”

“Good. There’ll be less cars there.” 

I drop my arm off his back, let go of his elbow, and take his hand. 

“Now. Hold my hand, and do what my feet do.”

“Why am I holding your hand?”

I let go of him and step away, and he almost immediately topples over. 

I scoot back over to him and swing an arm across his lower back, holding him up. 

“Because, Kyoya, THAT is what happens when you don’t.”

“Couldn’t we just go like this?”

“What, with my arm around you?”

“Well, yes.”

I look over at him. He’s looking pointedly away. 

When I respond, my voice is a little softer than before. 

“That’ll be fine.”

We have one more wobbly moment, and I tell him to just stand still and let me push. He guides me through the neighborhoods, and it’s mostly quiet- all I can hear is the click-swish-swish of our skates. 

Our only actual obstacle is a huge intersection that separates the sort of “sides” of town- past this, I can see the houses and landscaping growing steadily larger, more elaborate. I stop to press the crosswalk button and Kyoya latches to the light pole next to it for dear life. 

“Kyoya? What’s wrong? Why are you holding onto that?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Then let go of the light pole.”

Silence. 

“Kyoya. The light’s changing. We should get moving.”

I grab his arm. 

“C’mon. I’ll carry you.”

He startles back a bit.

“Carry me?”

The light is going to change back soon. 

Fuck it.

I pull Kyoya away from the light pole and scoop him up into a bridal carry, then set off down the street. There’s a half dozen protests, but he seems afraid to move and make me wobble. It’s another block downhill before I stop and realize Kyoya has been viciously swearing this entire time. 

I set him down as gently as I can, keeping one arm tight around his back. 

“Hey. I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

He’s blushing at a level I thought was impossible. 

“Yeah. You just took me by surprise, is all. I’m okay.”

“Good, I don’t wanna send you into shock or anything.”

The city glows neon behind us, and I fiddle with my necklaces. 

“You- are you ready to keep going?”

“Naturally. Straight forward.”

My hand snakes across his back, and we start off again. He relaxes into my arm, and we speed off into the semi-dark of the evening. 

Another ten minutes pass of occasional directions and the click-swish-swish of our skates. By now, the houses are the size of city blocks. Not to mention the size of their estates- my calves are sort of starting to ache when he finally announces the last turn. From there, we go another few acres and reach a driveway. 

“Kyoya, we came all this way and you never learned to skate.”

“And what’s the matter with that?”

“I let you wear my boots and you don’t even learn how to skate? C’mon, get ready and stand up by yourself.”

“James, wait-“

I let go and he wobbles, but catches himself.

“See, Otoori? You’ll do fine.”

I skate forward a meter or so and turn around to face him. 

“Give me your hands. I’m going to pull you, and you’re going to push out and back with your feet.”

He hesitates a moment, but when I stretch my arms out to him, Kyoya takes my hands. I start to skate off down the driveway, pointing my direction with one foot, pushing with the other, and managing to avoid eye contact by looking behind me to watch where we’re going.

He stands stock-still for a very long moment, just getting dragged along. Maybe a quarter-way up the drive, he starts to shuffle his feet, and I spend a few more minutes coaching him on how to move. 

He doesn’t do the greatest, but we go slow, and we get nearly up to the house before disaster strikes. His feet, slowly, as we’ve been moving, have shifted behind him. When Kyoya realizes, there’s an obvious moment of panic, and he accidentally pulls me forward onto him in an attempt to recover. 

I try to catch him, but it’s too late. The last movement I make as we fall to earth is a subconscious act of protection. 

I pull Kyoya up towards me, cupping one hand around his head, then wrapping my other arm around his back. 

We hit the ground, hard. 

Well, it’s more accurate to say that *I* hit the ground hard. Kyoya’s fallen, yes, but my left arm and right hand seem to have taken some of the beating for him. The fingers on my right hand feel battered under my rings. I’m gonna regret catching him tomorrow. 

I ease my hand out from under his head and prop myself up on it- then I pull my arm from under his back, too. I sit back on my knees. 

My glasses fell off, and I spend a few seconds feeling around for them. They’re off to my right, and I slip them on before I look down at Kyoya. 

“Hey, are you alright? I’m sorry about-“

Okay, maybe the bruised hand is worth it- his face is so flushed I think he’ll catch fire.

“Erm. Sorry- really, are you alright Kyoya? Nothing broken?”

Long pause as he pushes himself up on his elbows. 

His breath hitches a bit. 

“Yes- I’m, I’m fine. Thank you.”

I realize the position I’m in- I’m sitting back on my knees, yes, but anyone can do the math about where I am in relation to Kyoya. 

“Oh! Sorry, here.”

I manage to get off him and stand up, then I lean down and pull him up too. It’s only about ten meters from us to the concrete slab modern architects pretend is a porch, so I put my arm back around his waist and lead him up to it. 

“Now, step up. Very carefully.”

He does, so I step up next. 

“Wait- James, you’re bleeding.”

I am. From both knees and my right hand, both from a scrape on the back of my hand, and from under some of my rings. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. I didn’t mean to get blood on your porch. Sorry about that. Here, I’ll step back onto the driveway, you can give me my shoes and skates, and I’ll be off.”

“Wait! I don’t mean leave- you should get those bandaged.”

“No way, if they’re really bad I can get them done up at home. I got these really cool blue bandaids last week. They match my school sweaters.”

“No, James, wait- You need your boots back!”

“Like I said, just give me them out here so I don’t get blood in your house.”

“James, please just come inside so I can give you your shoes.”

He turns away from me in silence and starts towards the door to his house. 

“Hey! Be careful on those skates- you might fall. I don’t want you to get hurt on my account.” 

As he opens the door, he wobbles and falls forward a bit. I shoot forward and catch him by the arm. He grabs at the wall and stumbles forward to the shoe-bench in an otherwise empty atrium.

Why do wealthy people have an obsession with making sure their houses look untouched? Do they spend too much money on the house and not enough on furniture?

I stand there, awkwardly bleeding while another boy wears my shoes. Kyoya doesn’t really acknowledge me- he just plops down on the bench and tears my shoes off. Then- still in just his socks, he runs off down the hallway. 

The fuck is he doing?

I’m not sure what else to do, so I just plop criss-cross-applesauce on his floor and take my skates off. Then I pull his shoes out of my bag and place them in the only semi-domestic thing as far as the eye can see, the shoe cabinet. 

He’s still not back- so I pull my boots on and make sure the clip-on skates are fine. Lace them, double check the knot. 

He’s still not back. Huh. Maybe he went to change? 

I check my watch. 

6:02. 

I should go home, but it feels wrong to leave without saying goodbye. I pull out the other half-sheet of paper from earlier, when I wrote the instructions, and scribble:

“See you monday. Sorry about all the blood. Thanks for an interesting evening, Kyoya.

-James”

in my best handwriting.

I look back down the hallway- still nothing. Huh. 

I open the door, close it behind me, and don’t look back as I step outside and cross his porch. 

I’ve only just started off down the giant, horseshoe driveway when the door slams open behind me. 

I freeze and spin back around. Kyoya’s standing there, clutching a first aid kit and two cans of melon soda. 

I start laughing- just a little. I can’t help it. 

He’s red-faced, and a little out of breath, and he’s still in his socks. 

He sits down on his knees in the middle of the porch, then pops the top on one of the sodas and shoves it across towards me. I skate back over to the porch and sit down with my feet over the edge. 

He doesn’t look up- he just opens the medicine kit and starts pulling things out. 

A round, screw-top tin of what I guess is neosporin, gauze pads, athletic tape, a bottle of something. Bandages in different sizes. 

I sit, silent, drinking my soda and watching him. 

My left hand is still bleeding from under my rings, and it hurts to move it, so I just carefully set it on the porch and stare out into the night. 

Which is probably why it’s such a surprise to feel Kyoya gently pick it up. It’s even more of a surprise when he sets it on his thigh.

I whip my head back around to him, blushing stupidly- he’s blushing too, but probably way less than I am. He’s also pointedly looking down at my hand instead of me. 

He works my rings off, one at a time. Gently. It’s nice. His hands are soft. I watch him place my rings in a pile, then I turn away and stare into the night again. The driveway here has tiny solar lights on either side- 

OW OW OW OW OW OW FUCKING OW

My hand involuntarily clenches- and as that happens and I turn around to face him, Kyoya gasps, and then his breath hitches. 

Oh, Sky above and Hell below, what the fuck-

I snatch my hand away- there’s a gauze pad on it that’s drenched in hydrogen peroxide. 

“Sorry, Kyoya; really, I didn’t mean to. Sorry-“

He cuts me off, and I realize he looks a little bit scared. 

“It’s alright. It was an accident. I’m gonna finish doing your bandages now.”

“Alright.”

No, not quite scared. Maybe surprised? Shocked, definitely. But there was something in his eyes I didn’t register till it was basically gone. 

Interesting. 

I turn back to the driveway, determinedly keeping my hand flat and drinking my soda in tiny sips, even as he starts poking ointment onto the bruise. 

He lifts my hand up a little, then carefully pries my fingers apart and starts to bandage the first of my three bleeding fingers. 

It feels weird to have someone else bandage me up. And so delicately- like he’s afraid I’ll break. 

I guess he hasn’t noticed any of the other scars on my arms. No barcodes or anything, but my skin isn’t exactly what you’d call smooth. My hands and forearms alone are covered in calluses and dotted with white lines, red-brown dots, tiny purplish lumps. They’re mostly stories of climbing trees, or touching things I shouldn’t have, or bee stings, or splinters, or burns. 

But he treats me like I’m made of glass.

I don’t dislike it, honestly. 

He’s bandaging the last finger now, and it feels achy, but I think the ointment had a numbing agent, because the pain is receding. 

I take one more sip. 

“Thank you, Kyoya.”

I make a move to stand up, but he grabs my wrist. 

“What about your knees?”

I turn a bit to face him. 

“What about them?”

“They’re still bleeding.”

“It’s alright. I can get em when I get home.”

I try and stand again, but he keeps a hold on my wrist. 

“No, you need to disinfect that.”

“Fine, then.”

I turn my whole body around towards him and swing my legs up onto the porch, stretched out in front of me. 

“Do your worst.”

He smiles a bit at me, but as I pull my jeans up, I reveal crowds of scars on my knees and legs, hardly visible under the fresh scrapes and blood. He stops smiling after that. 

“Damn. I really liked these socks.”

“They aren’t even a matching pair.”

“I know, but they looked nice together.”

We’re quiet for a moment while he disinfects my left knee and I look on. 

“James, how did you get all these?”

“What, the scars? They come with time, honestly. These ones-“

I point to a few dark, circular scars.

“are mosquito bites. This-“

I point out a slash on my left calf. 

“that was from a bottle by the river. All of these-“

He stops working on my leg to watch me point out patchy, rounded scars scattered across both legs, mainly on my knees.

“are from me being too prideful or the summer being too hot to wear knee pads when I skate.” 

Kyoya laughs a little. He’s moved on to wrapping my right knee, but he looks up from it to meet my eyes, and I smile. 

“And these, down here.”

I point out a series of purple, raised slashes on the front of my legs. 

“These are from when I fell into a clam bed. I have ones that match on the left leg, but you’ve covered them by now.”

“Wait, you fell into a clam bed?”

“Yeah, when I was twelve. I was playing under the bridge near my house and the rock I was standing on started to slide into the river. It was jump or swim, and that wasn’t really water you wanted to swim in. So I jumped. A part of me made it to the next rock, but my legs took most of the fall for me. I had to wrap my legs up in leaves and string till I got home so I wouldn’t lose too much blood. My parents didn’t figure it out for a full year. I just wrapped my legs up and wore jeans till I could walk normally.”

“You got hurt so badly that you couldn’t walk?”

“Not properly. And not without pain, no. Plus, I have two bad knees. So getting home that day caused a lot of issues, but it turned out alright.”

“You must have quite the pain tolerance.”

I shrug. 

“Eh. Not really. It’s a part of life, you know?”

“I don’t.”

“Alright rich boy.”

He laughs, then taps a thin, white mark. 

“How’d you get that one?”

“You know what? I’m not sure. The one above it, though, is from a clay kiln. I was really little and I got a bit too close to the firing oven in my sister’s studio.”

I notice that my knees are wrapped up and done- but I don’t wanna leave him yet. I pop the tab on his soda and hand it to him. 

He asks me about a few more, and after I tell him their stories, I decide to push my luck and see what I can make him believe. There’s an area on my left calf where it flexes oddly, so I push down my sock a bit more and point to a scar near there. 

I drop my voice to a whisper. 

“This one…” 

I pause to lock eyes with him. 

“This one is from a bullet.”

His eyes widen in shock. 

“Really? How’d you get it?”

I burst out laughing. He takes a second to process it before he starts laughing too. Kyoya pushes at one of my shoulders and smiles his tiny crescent-moon smile. 

I let myself be pushed down, and my head hangs off the porch slab. The skyline of the city glows in the distance, and the night is thickly dark above us. 

I can hear Kyoya gathering up the trash and the med kit, then the clink of him grabbing his soda. I hear him open the door, then call for someone to take the first-aid box away. The door shuts again, and I sit up. He flips open his phone and starts punching buttons. 

He sticks his hand out to me. I smile and take it, and he pulls me to my feet. I let our hands stick together a moment too long, then, soda in one hand, I turn and step off the porch since he’s still distracted by calling me a car. 

I get a few meters down the driveway before I turn to face him. 

“Hey, Kyoya?”

He looks up from his phone, confused.

“James, what are you doing?”

I start pushing backwards down the road. 

“Goodbye, Kyoya! I’ll see you Monday!”

I turn and start skating off. 

His voice rings out behind me. 

“James! No! Let me call you a car! It’s late!”

“Goodbyeeeeee! See you at school! Goodnight!”

I hear him shouting after me, but all I do is laugh and keep going. 

His voice fades into silence behind me, but I’m smiling. 

Today was a good day. 

I chug what’s left of my soda and toss the can into a bin once I get into the city. 

I take my headphones out of my bag, turn on my CD player, and skate home. 

I might get into trouble with Kyoya for skating off instead of taking one of his cars- but the drama of that exit makes it worth it. Besides, if I took one of his cars, he’d be able to find Lexi’s apartment, and then what would I do? 

I don’t want the club to know who I am without me telling them. It ruins the fun. I won’t go to the trouble of making myself untraceable just to essentially hand them my home address. 

It’s a little after seven when I reach the apartment block. It makes my knees ache a little, but I get up the steps without issue. I unlock the apartment door and go in, swing it closed and lean back against it. 

So, I work with the host club now. 

This might be interesting.


	6. in which there is some domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end of the weekend in the Lysander home! featuring some backstory and a touch of housework

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you kaz for proofreading!
> 
> thank you to everyone for 100 hits. I’ve literally already written TEN CHAPTERS ahead. So. Like. get ready bitches. 
> 
> Slower paced chapter today, but we ramp it back up on friday, don’t worry.
> 
> Thank you all for your support, please enjoy the latest installment!

I shower, cook dinner, and clean up the apartment a little: sweep, do the dishes, fold some laundry. 

Tomorrow’s Sunday, which means I’ll need to go shopping and to the gym. I take note of what we’re out of- I don’t know many Japanese dishes, so I eat a lot of rice and beans, sandwiches, and macaroni and cheese. Which I’m not complaining about, honestly. They’re practical and very filling. 

I guess this week, since I’m doing hours with the host club, I should pack an after-school snack, so I make a mental note to pick up extra apples and protein bars. 

I stick the list to the fridge and change some of my time slots on the whiteboard in the kitchen, then go back to my room. 

My alarm clock says it’s 8:42.

Aunt Lexi might not be home for another few hours, then, and she’ll want to talk for a bit about our plans for the week. 

I don’t have a bookshelf in my room- my schoolbooks stay next to my desk, and all the books I’ve bought or borrowed from the neighborhood library sit next to my bed. 

I flop down on my bed and pick up one of the “Beyond the Deepwoods” books from the stack next to me. They’re good books- I’ve been re-reading them since middle school. 

The next few hours pass quietly, till I hear Lexi’s key in the door. 

I leave my room and meet her in the kitchen. She hugs me hello, and I start to make us tea while she heats up a leftover stewpot she made for lunch yesterday. 

We sit at the table and she tells me about the farm she visited- sometimes I wonder how a woman so obsessed with farms, cottages, and gardening ended up in the city. 

Apparently, the lady she visited was a friend of a friend from work, named Zeba, who lives off the grid. Zeba gave her a carton of eggs, a jar of fresh milk, and a loaf of homemade apple bread. 

Then, the subject changes, and Lexi tells me my uncle called her today. One of the reasons I came to Japan was to be near him- he’s old, and he’s got more money in the bank than half the people at Ouran. When he passes, I’ll have a lot to handle. 

I am his legacy, and the heir to his money. We descend from nobility on my mother’s side, which made him a financial heavyweight. He came here, married rich, started a bunch of work unions, and then when everyone got sacked for creating a union, he started his own sort of construction business. 

I say business, but it’s more of a ring of old, scruffy laborers, and their children, and soon, like me, their children’s children. I never understood why two millionaires got married, adopted a dozen kids (Lexi included), and went into physical labor, but he’s happy, and although his husband passed a few years ago, Uncle does alright on his own. 

“Well, you see, he’d meant to call you, but I was stuck in traffic on the way back from Zeba’s, so he just told me.”

Lexi pauses to take a sip of her tea, then continues. 

“Father says that since more people are joining, they’re legally putting themselves down as a business, so that way they can more easily provide jobs for their members. It gives them more attention than just their posters and flyers now, and that way, everyone keeps their individual wages, they just have to go through father first. He has loyalty in his men, and they’ll still write up their own estimates. So the plan is that potential jobs will be heard about by father, posted on the notice boards, and the men can volunteer. They write up their estimates, give them to him, and once the man finishes the job and tells father the total cost, the customer sends the money to him, and then he gives the money to the man who did the job. Since there’s going to be records of who did what, and for what price, nobody gets short-changed, and although it involves extra steps, it does mean that more job options will be available for everyone involved.”

I take a sip of tea, and Lexi pauses to eat a bit more of her dinner. 

“So, then, Lexi, does that mean Uncle is slowing down? Just running the books for now? If he’s not, then who will?”

Lexi swallows one last mouthful of pork before she answers. 

“He already ran the notice boards they use to claim jobs. He’s ridiculously wealthy, but he lives frugally, so he doesn’t have much of an issue with it. For now, father’s taking time off to handle the legal issues. Then, the men will probably have to find a real book-keeper. Since I’m still just working nights at the bar, I’m likely for the interim. But a lot of boys are getting out of school about now- and a lot of them don’t want to join up with the big companies around here. If you promise every man who joins the fullest share of his work, you’re set. You’ll never lack for employees, and word-of-mouth advertising already makes father popular on the local level. If they need a book-keeper, yes, they’ll need to pay one, but so long as it’s someone who was close to him who takes over, and doesn’t steal their pay, I don’t think they’ll mind. It wouldn’t be much out of their pockets, anyway. Respect is a two-way street. If someone is making sure they have everything they need and that their family is alright, any decent man would make sure they’re taken care of too.”

She pauses and takes another bite before continuing. 

“The reason he wanted to tell you, Axel, is that they’re thinking of asking you. We’ve got loads of people- men and women alike- working with your uncle. They’ve all known you for a very long time, and you’re smart enough to qualify for the scholarships to Ouran. You’re centered on fairness, and you always make a point of considering all proposed opinions and perspectives. So for the interim, it’ll be either father, or me. But when you graduate, should you choose to accept it, there’s a place for you.”

Lexi takes another bite, and I take a slow sip of tea. 

“Really, Lexi? They want me to manage for them?”

“You don’t have to. You’re always free to do what you like- father understands that and respects that, as do I. But the workers like you. We all see you as a candidate. If you want to take the job, everyone would like to have you manage for them.”

“Then I’ll definitely think about it. It’d be nice to know I’m taking care of Uncle’s friends, everyone deserves that sort of two-way security. And my only other current plan is to tend bar, which I can still do if I feel like it. If I’m wanted, I’ll probably go. It’d also help us keep prices low- which is a win for the customers as well.”

“Axel, why is everything so ‘equal wealth’ with you?”

I roll my eyes and switch back to English.

“Lexi, there’s nothing wrong with taking issue against exploitation. I might go to school with billionaires-“

I take a stern sip of tea.

“but I don’t like them.”

I hesitate a moment, and Lexi’s watching me sharply. 

“Well. I like some of them. But I don’t like their money and I don’t like how they throw their weight around. They’re really classist, Lexi. And they don’t even realize they’re being rude. Or that it is rude. To them it’s just life. I sort of wonder- they’re always so obsessed with justice- how do they not know their fathers work people to the bones and then stiff them? And if someone told them, what would they say? The heirs to these companies- do they ever find out? Do they know and think it’s fine? Do they know, but only think that justice is for the wealthy?”

A silence falls as we both sip the last of our tea for another moment. 

Lexi speaks first. 

“Only one way to go, I guess- tell them and see.”

“I suppose.”

Lexi stands up and takes our cups and her bowl to the kitchen. 

“It’s late, Axel. Go to bed.”

“Goodnight, Lexi.” 

“Goodnight.”

I wake up the next morning to a slice of sunlight poking me in the eye. 

There’s another note in the kitchen, but this one is shorter, and there’s no translation. 

“Axel-

Ri needed someone to cover a morning shift. The grocery money is on the fridge next to the list. Have a good gym sesh. I’ll be home at noon, and then I have another shift tonight at eight. 

-Lexi”

Figures. Lexi works odd hours, but I don’t mind having the place to myself. She has a radio set up in the kitchen, and I listen to the weather readings and the headlines while I make myself scrambled eggs and apple-bread toast. 

Once I’m done eating, I wash my plate and turn the radio off. I head back into my room to get dressed and I check my phone. There’s a text from my mother back home about church, and then one-

one from Kyoya Otoori. 

From: kyoya.o @ 8:24 AM

“I hope you made it home alright. You should have let me call you a car.”

From: James.L @ 9:36 AM

“Sorry about that. I hope I didn’t worry you.”

I’m blushing. Why am I blushing? 

Okay, I know why I’m blushing. But I still dislike that I am. 

I put my phone back down on the nightstand and put a record on while I get ready to go to the gym. It’s about a mile away, and the day is nice, so I guess I’ll run it and count that as cardio. 

I grab my gym bag and shove in my gloves and a water bottle. Then I get an ace bandage and my knee brace from my dresser. I grab a towel, and since my legs still hurt from yesterday, I pick up my bottle of ibuprofen off the desk. And if I’m going to run there, plus my normal training, I should wear my swim binder. 

I have a few minutes of double-checking everything, but I don’t bother packing my mouthguard since there’s nobody in Japan I know to spar with. 

Then I re-bandage my fingers and change out the gauze on my knees. The alarm clock says it’s 9:50, so if I hurry I can get through my sesh and be back with the groceries around one. If I’m gonna shop, I might as well shower at the gym, so I pack an extra towel and my soap, plus a change of clothes. I make sure my chores are done, leave a note for Lexi, shove my phone into my shorts pocket, grab the shop list and the envelope with our grocery money, and lock up behind myself. 

It’s gorgeous outside. It’s sunny, but not too hot, and there’s a soft breeze. I jump the last few steps of the flight of stairs that leads to our apartment on the second floor, and although I wince when my knees feel all jolty, they’re definitely better than yesterday. 

I start off at a jog towards the gym. I wave at a few kids I know from the apartments, and they wave back.

By the time I’ve reached the gym, I’m sweating despite the breeze, but it’s a nice feeling. I go in and sign the registration book, then to one of the family locker rooms. I lock my bag and toiletries up, pull on my knee brace, and then head into the actual gym with my weightlifting gloves and towel. 

First stop, same as always, is the weight room. I can’t come to the gym every day, so I try and get a full body workout on Sundays before practice. 

I start with arms and shoulders, then a back and core set, and finally legs. Legs are rough today- my knees really did take a bruising yesterday. I was right to bring my brace. 

I push through it, though, and finish my sets. A stretch break, drink some of my water, and I head off to the back training room. I’m sure somewhere else in the city, there’s an actual boxing ring and a training center. On the other hand, I’m not sure what I do is boxing. It’s really just beating on a half-dozen types of punching bags. 

I’ve never been classically trained. Or, in truth, trained at all. My dad hung a coffee bag full of brick dust and sand in our backyard for christmas when I was 12. Then one of my brothers taught me how to wrap my hands, and after that, it all went downhill. Or uphill. Depends on whether you’re me or the guy I’m beating up. 

I’ve been in some sparring sessions with other boys, although I had no clue how to properly fight them. They called it bare-knuckle boxing, I called it: “If you get the other guy down, you win.”

My hand’s still battered from yesterday, and while I’m used to raw skin or bruises, I don’t want to bleed again, or fuck up my hand any more. The bruises on my arm from yesterday are still painful to touch too...

My solution, of course, is just to practice hits with my left hand and blocks with my right arm. It’s the reverse of my usual practices, and I make a note to practice my right-arm blocks more. 

After this, normally, I’m supposed to practice kicks. I’m a bit afraid to do so around a brace and two layers of gauze, though, so I take another stretch break and have some water while I try and figure out what the fuck I should do. 

Since I’m not busy, though, when a college-aged guy with swept-back black hair asks me to hold some blocks for him, I agree. I spend a couple rounds with a punch pad strapped to my hand, providing him a moving target. Once he’s finally beaten the pad half to death, we take a break, and he offers to hold a few blocks for me. 

I’m tired, but this is the first guy I’ve seen actually practice using fighting moves, not martial arts, and that makes him a potential training partner. So, naturally, I agree. 

He goes over to grab his water bottle, and I check the time on my phone while I wait. 12:17. I’m not expecting to see a notification, but clear as day under the time:

From: kyoya.o @ 12:03 PM

“you worried me a little but i know you can manage yourself. oh, and the catering staff started to make your designs. they look even better in real. club hours start at four so you should come to the music room right away when school ends. we’re not doing a theme day till next week, so you’ll have time to get used to the flow of things.”

From: James.L @ 12:18 PM

“im at a sparring practice right now, text you when i get out around 1:30 :)”

I pick up the punch pad and cross the room to the wrestling mats. 

“Hey, you ready to go again?”

“For sure. Gimme the punch pad.”

I can still only punch with my left hand and block with my right, so he goes a bit easy on me at first. By the end though, he’s going at the same speed I gave him. 

We break the sessions a little after 12:30, then exchange numbers so we can practice again when I’ve healed up a little. 

“Hey, wait. I never caught your name.”

He turns around from his position in the doorway. 

“Oh! Call me Otoori. Akito Otoori.”

I’m sure shock registers on my face, but I brush it off at once. 

“Lysander. James Lysander.”

“See you next week?”

“Certainly.”

It’s definitely a coincidence, this boy being named Otoori. Why would anyone as rich as the Otoori’s practice in a public gym? 

Either way, who cares? If a distant cousin of the Otoori’s, or whoever this boy is to them, wants to practice with me, let him. I’m not saying no to a practice partner.

I throw my towel over my shoulder, grab my phone and waterbottle, then set off towards the locker room. 

I take a quick shower, then shake my hair dry and get dressed. Before I know it, I’ve signed out of the gym, and with my hair still a bit wet, I’m headed towards the supermarket. 

The shopping is the same as ever, only this week I buy an extra couple apples and some string cheese for snacks. I make the trip home, laden in shopping bags, and plan lunch. Lexi will probably be asleep, and she’ll want to eat before work, so I’ll have something protein-heavy and then I guess I’ll start meal prep. 

I unlock the door, quietly kick off my sneakers. It’s lucky I’d remembered Lexi would be asleep- otherwise I’d have woken her for sure. I open the window in the kitchen, then the one in the living room. It’s a nice feeling, this quiet, slow afternoon. The curtains are fluttering a bit in the breeze. 

Oh, fucking hell, I forgot to text Kyoya. 

At this point, I might as well call him, and make my life easier. 

I pull on my sandals and step outside, easing the door shut behind me, then leaning forward, against and over the railing. Our apartment is at the very end of the walkway on the second floor- I look out over the neighborhood a moment, then pull my phone from my pocket and punch in Kyoya’s contact. He picks up on the second ring. 

“Hey.”

“Hello, James. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

“Quit acting all host-ish. I just remembered I hadn’t texted you back. I figured it’d be easier to call you.”

“It is. It also doesn’t matter too much, but I’ve been wondering this whole time- why didn’t you take the cab?”

“To be honest? If you hadn’t somehow found my address by then, I wasn’t going to just hand it over. I’m okay with letting people find things out about me, but they can do that at my pace, once I let them. You’re sorta the same, huh Kyoya?”

“What do you mean?”

“You like to start every interaction knowing what you stand to gain in it. You like to know before you even begin.”

“It’s a useful thing to do.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t. When you think about it, we both do that. It’s just that I think I’m used to figuring people out on the fly. You’re not.”

“And here I was thinking I’d go a day without being insulted.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re right, anyway.”

“Mm.”

We’re both quiet a moment before I speak. 

“So what was it you needed to talk with me about the club for?”

“Oh yeah- that. School gets out at 3:30, and then the club opens at 4:00. You should head over right when school ends. We keep the club room set up at all times, but you’ll need to see where we keep what and how to make tea. And I’m assuming you would want to see what your cakes look like before they get served.”

“Yeah- I’m honestly a little bit worried, I’ve never had someone else work with my designs.”

“I went over to the catering kitchens today- trust me, they look great.”

I’m quiet for a moment. 

“Thank you, Kyoya.”

“Not a problem.”

Another few beats of silence. 

“I- I should go. My aunt’s asleep, and I need to start meal prep for this week before she needs dinner.”

“Oh. Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

“Bye, James.”

I regret having to hang up. 

I spend a few seconds after I do leaning over the railing, staring at the little red phone in my hand. 

I head back into the house in silence. 

The rest of the day passes without issue. I eat lunch. Then I make up two tupperware boxes of pasta salad with tomatoes and olives, and a few turkey-and-swiss sandwiches. There. That’s lunch for the week. The sounds of the city keep me company from the open window. Our kitchen clock says it’s 3:13. That gives me a little over two hours before I should start on dinner.

I retreat to my room and open the window there, too. The breeze from earlier has picked up a bit. It pokes the papers on my desk around. I ought to get ready for school so I can have the night off. My homework’s already done- all I can really do is clean up my room and practice Japanese. 

I can’t afford a uniform, but Ouran has strict dress codes for anyone who doesn’t wear the uniform. I’ve got five sweaters, all in the same shade of dark blue, and three pairs of black dress slacks. I also have to wear a white button down under the sweater, tucked into my slacks with a black leather belt. How do the boys at this school not melt in the summertime? 

It’s lucky they even let us have pockets at Ouran. 

I spend a half hour ironing my outfits for the week, then carefully hanging them up. In winter, I’m allowed carry a leather jacket, but I haven’t needed it yet. The only thing non-uniform students are allowed to have freedom with is their shoes: any brand of black leather or faux-leather shoes are allowed so long as they’re closed toe. That’s lucky, because it means I don’t have to carry my skates with me- I can just wear my docs and keep my clip-ons in my bag. 

You’d think for such a wealthy school, we’d get lockers or something, but surprisingly not. Most students also have the same bags- briefcase looking things. Mine sticks out like a sore thumb: a green cloth messenger bag. It’s also not mine- we bought it secondhand. On the other hand, I’ll never lose it at Ouran. 

Speaking of book bags, I ought to repack mine. I never took my skates or anything out of it yesterday, just set it down by the shoe bench and went to go shower. 

I tiptoe past Lexi’s room, then sneak into the atrium and grab my bag. It’s still got my CD player, my design book, and my extract bottles, plus my skates and pencil case. I hide the extract bottles in the cabinet behind our baking stuff- I want to make those cakes and surprise Lexi with a pomegranate one. Then I head back, quiet as a mouse, and close the door to my room behind me. 

The rest of my evening passes without event. I finish getting ready for the week. I write letters: one to my friend Addi back in America, and one to my sister at college. I close the windows as night creeps in. We eat chicken with rice and salad for dinner, and after Lexi leaves for work, I watch a couple of hours of TV. Around 10, I head back to my room, and after about an hour of reading, I close the window in my room, get ready to sleep, and crawl into bed. 

The streetlights are on outside my apartment, and I fall asleep watching them glow. 


	7. in which there is a star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamaki has a sense of unparalleled whimsy, James is a desperate flirt, and they are both collectively determined to annoy Kyoya to his wit’s end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you kaz for proofreading!
> 
> I have written literally 14 chapters ahead of where we are right now. please. someone make me stop. 
> 
> anyway. thank you for my kudos, comments, and bookmarks. without delay, here is the chapter, and i’ll see you all again on monday!

My alarm clock wakes me up, and I fall out of bed trying to turn it off without waking anyone. 

Ow. 

But I’m awake, and school starts at eight, so I’d better hurry. There’s a bird singing somewhere, and the neighborhood sits, calm and pretty outside, while I get dressed and ready for school and rewrap my scrapes. They look a lot better today, but my knuckles are still absolutely fucked. 

Next, breakfast. The apple bread Zeba gave us is still good, so I make a slice of it into toast with peanut butter and scramble two eggs. I sit at our table and listen to the ending of the 6 o’clock news on the kitchen radio as I eat breakfast. It’s a good morning- and the skies will be clear all day. The traffic picks up a bit outside as I eat. By the time I’m done, It’s nearly seven, so I chop two apples, then grab a string cheese, a sandwich, and a bag of chips. 

When that’s ready, I pad off to my bedroom for my bag and a pair of socks. Once I’m properly ready for school, I wrap my lunch up in a cloth, put it into the back of my bag, lace my boots and clip-ons up, and hit the road. 

My CD player still has the mix from Saturday in, and as the early sunshine makes the street glow, I head off to school. 

It’s 7:40, according to my watch, when I arrive. Gossip runs like nobody's business around here, so I make a point to show up early and miss the crowds. My desk is in the back of our homeroom, too, so I can watch people come and go, but they don’t take much note of me. I’m sure people know ABOUT me- I am a normal kid at a school for billionaires- but I stay to myself. I don’t know other people, they don’t know me. 

This morning, though, when Tamaki and Kyoya enter the classroom, my under-the-radar situation is broken. I mean, it’s natural that two boys with more money than the pope and looks good enough to start a host club attract eyes, but that wasn’t a problem until they came up to me. I do have a book out, so I pretend to still be reading until they get right up to my desk. 

Tamaki speaks first.

“Good morning, James!”

He reaches out for a handshake, which I take. 

“Good morning, Tamaki.”

Our hands drop after a moment and I turn to Kyoya. 

“Alright, Kyoya?”

He smiles a bit- not as wide as when he’s hosting, that sort of serene, small one from saturday night. 

“Fine. You?”

“Been better, been worse.”

I realize a minute too late we shook with our right hands, and Tamaki notices my bandages. 

“James, what happened to you? Are you hurt? Why is your hand like that?”

Kyoya tenses, but I’ve always been a good liar, and Tamaki has such a sense of whimsy…

“Oh, Tamaki. You won’t believe me. I can’t tell you.”

Tamaki slams his fist onto my desk and makes me jump. 

“I’ll believe you whole-heartedly!”

“Well, if you insist…”

I lean forward in my chair a little, then beckon him a bit closer. He steals the chair from the desk in front of me and sits down. Kyoya follows suit and takes the one next to me. 

“The other night, I went skating, as I often do. While I was out, I saw something in the distance that looked like a burst of brilliant light. Naturally, curiosity got to me, and as I got nearer to it, it took the shape of a beautiful boy, falling from the sky. I was afraid he’d be hurt once he hit the ground so I sped up to catch him. I managed to reach him in time, but as he fell, he dissolved into a ball of light. I caught the ball with one hand, but it was very heavy, and it launched me off balance. I bruised my right hand and my left arm, and both my knees got absolutely shredded. It was worth it, though, Tamaki. I think I got to catch a falling star.”

Kyoya’s smiling a little, and obviously trying not to, but Tamaki only has eyes for me and my story. 

“That’s magnificent, James! What happened then?”

“Well, I’m not sure what happened to the star. It turned back into a boy, and I was unsure of him- he seemed to be made of light. So I went away.”

Kyoya stands, startling us out of conversation.

“That’s a very intriguing story. But class will be starting soon- come along, Tamaki.” 

He obeys, but theres a few protests of:

“Awww, Kyoya, no fair, I wanna talk to Lysander more-“

And even though they’ve left, glances still flit back at me. 

Some of the people looking at me have eyes full of envy, others are just plain curious. The clock chimes eight, and everyone shuffles into their seats. The boy next to me, I remember, is named Wanatabe, and we nod our hellos like we do every morning. 

Today is beginning, and I have a feeling it’ll be exciting.

Four hours of class later, we break for lunch. I manage to give the other boys from the club the slip, and I sneak off towards the clock tower. It was unlocked the first day I came here- sometimes it isn’t, but it’s a very simple lock to pick. Today it’s locked, so I make sure nobody can see me, pick the lock, and after a minute or two, the door swings open for me. I start up the twisting stairs, and about halfway up, I reach a platform, where I plop down on a storage crate. The view, even from only here, is magnificent. The grounds seem to spread out below me. I pray and eat, then spend the rest of the lunch hour reading. The bells chime a warning, and I sneak out and back to class. 

Another few classes, then the bell, and I’m headed for the club room. 

By the time I get there, everyone but the first-years are already setting up. Honey drags me over to a changing room before I can even say hello, then shoves me inside and Tamaki flings a uniform at me. 

“Hey, I don’t want this- quit PUSHING! I’m perfectly fine dressed how I am!”

Tamaki does not stop pushing. 

“Nonsense! You, my friend, need a makeover!”

I muscle past him and out of the changing room. 

“I do not! Let go!”

Mori comes up and pulls him off of me. 

“Noooooo, James, see, you have to wear the uniform so you can look like us!!!”

“With all the love and respect in my heart, no fucking way.”

“See, then we can match!”

“No way in hell, Tamaki. I look perfectly fine as I am.”

Kyoya cuts in. 

“Tamaki, please. He looks fine. If you’re that committed to James wearing something professional looking, we have aprons.”

“But-“

“No buts, it’s up to him.”

Mori is still holding him back, and so when I turn to them, Tamaki stops flailing and gives me puppy-dog eyes. 

“Those don’t work on me. I’ll wear the apron, but I don’t want your uniform.”

He huffs out a melodramatic sigh. 

“Okayyyyyyyyyyyy.”

“Okay. Kyoya, you said you needed to show me the prep room and stuff?”

“Yes. And thank you for the idea about student-made desserts for Honey, they met last Friday and had a whole tray of cupcakes they didn’t want. I got them for free! I think I understand why commoners like free things so much.”

I laugh- it’s hard not to, when he sounds so like Tamaki, but still has such a flat, cold delivery. 

The first years have come in by now. 

“Well, let’s go see my designs, yeah?”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and Kyoya leads the lot of us to the prep room, where about 20 carbon-copies of my designs sit. 

I stop dead in the doorway next to Kaoru, shocked. 

“My- my god.”

Kaoru turns to me

“What’s wrong, chef?”

I push past Honey, Mori, and Kyoya in front of us. 

“Nothing. Look at these- they’re basically perfect!”

I crouch in front of the table. Each cake is on a crystal stand with it’s own cover. 

Kaoru comes up and looks on next to me, then Haruhi and Kyoya.

“James, did you really design these?”

“What, you doubt me?”

“Not at all. They’re magnificent.”

I’m a little bit surprised by his kindness. 

“Thank you, Kaoru.”

Once everyone’s seen all my cakes, they shuffle back into the club room, and Kyoya gives me the run-down on what to do. Since the club uses timeslots, the girls who are between appointments, or just there to socialize, are bored, and probably hungry. My job is to fetch them whatever they order from me and keep a tab of it, but I also have to check up on the hosts and make sure they’re always ready for a customer. 

This doesn’t seem any different from customer service except that I have to be good-looking. Is the host club just a Hooters in disguise or something? 

Anyway. 

Kyoya goes back into the main club room, so I carry two of each design out and set them up on a table against the wall. They look even better in the light. 

There’s a small cart in the prep room that I think they expect me to use, so I load that up with plates, napkins, and utensils and get ready to go. They also have a tiny camp stove, and I start on making tea, two pots at a time. I just manage to get everything together before we open. Each host has a pot of tea at his table, and I have two on my cart. There’s a row of coat hooks with impossibly clean, starch-white aprons, so I pull one on and tie the best bow I can manage. I ease the door of the prep room open and walk out, pulling my cart behind me. As I turn towards the front door of the club room, the clock strikes four outside. 

The Ouran host club is ready for business, featuring it’s newest member, James Lysander. 


	8. in which the host club does it’s hosting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is getting used to working with the hosts- and of course, the added benefits of hanging out with pretty boys for three hours a day doesn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you kaz, for eternal proofreading and support!
> 
> thank you to anyone and everyone who reads and enjoys my work!
> 
> without further ado; the chapter!

At four o’clock sharp, the doors swing open and a crowd of girls flood in. Kyoya directs them all to their tables in twos and threes- even at Ouran, there are social classes. Even the one percent has a one percent. It’s easy to watch them and figure it out. 

The girls with distant links to royalty or nobility tend to pick Tamaki; it’s the most realistic to them, yet still out of their grasp. Their wealth adds another layer to their dynamic with him- they can bid the highest for his time. They’re jealous, they’re frivolous, they have an obsession with refined romance. The type of girls who read Shakespeare, but really only Romeo and Juliet. 

The girls who pick Mori and Honey are more in touch with reality. Not to call the others delusional, but they seem more down-to-earth. They seem mature, but I get the feeling a lot of them are the only children or eldest daughters of their families. Trained to marry a little above their post, sit still, and look pretty. I have a soft spot for them. They all act a little louder, less frightened, at the club than they do in public. They sit just the slightest bit taller. Money plays less of a factor to them as well- everyone takes a turn to sit and talk with Honey and Mori. 

The girls who pick Kyoya are sort of my favorites. They sit, they talk design, they talk money, and they’re the most aware that all of this is fake. A pretty face and a cup of tea is perfectly fine with them. They’re the softest, warmest girls of the lot. They remind me a bit of the church fellowship groups back home, just richer. A lot of them just come and socialize with each other or are just waiting for their friends. 

The girls who pick Haruhi feel like the middle class of the wealthy, if that makes sense. They’re smart, they’re laid back, they have a soft spot for tragedy. They drink the most tea, although none of them eat very much. They laugh the most out of the groups. 

The crooked old whorebags who choose Hikaru and Kaoru are, if you can’t tell, my least favorite. They have the most rapport established with their hosts, but they give me the feeling that they would call me slurs if I told them not to fetishize me. They’re tittering, weirdo airheads. 

It’s sort of interesting to watch them all get seated, but the time for observation is over, and I need to get started. There’s a notepad in the pocket of my apron with a ballpoint pen. 

Smile, everyone. The show is beginning. 

I take a deep, slow breath, and then I walk over towards the host-less tables, pushing my tea cart. They notice me, but pretend they don’t. 

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

There’s a girl with shoulder-length black hair who seems to be the leader. 

“Pardon me, but who are you?”

She likely already knows, but I treat it like she doesn’t. 

“Forgive me, miss. My name is Lysander, James Lysander. I am a waiter for the host club.”

“Oh. Well I don’t think we’ve met, but it’s nice to see a new face around here. Nice to meet you.”

“Ah. Nice to meet you too. Can I interest you all in anything to eat or drink?”

“Well, I know we’d all like some tea. Can we start with that?”

“Sure. Anything else? We’ve got three types of cake available, plus sandwiches.”

I place one of the tea trays onto the table, then give them their cups and start pouring. 

Another girl pipes up- this one’s blond. 

“I heard you got a new designer for them. What’re the flavors?”

“One is lemon cake with lavender frosting, the second is vanilla cake with almond frosting and orange zest, and the third is vanilla cake and cherry frosting.”

“Ooooh, may I have a slice of that last one?”

I pull out my notebook and jot it down. 

“Certainly. If you’ll give me your name, how about we settle your tab at the end of the month?”

She smiles.

“That’ll be great!” 

They all order cake- Two slices of lemon-lavender, one of vanilla-almond, and one of the cherry-vanilla. 

The other two girls both have brown hair, but one of them has it cut like Farrah Fawcett, and the other has a pair of thick pigtails that fall all the way to her waist. 

“I’ll be back with your orders in just a moment,  Miss.Takahashi.”

The ringleader girl- black hair- gives me a bubbly smile in response. 

“Oh, your accent is so cute!”

“I have an accent?”

The girl to her left- pigtails- leans over and whisper-hisses at her. 

“Aiko! You musn’t be rude to him, he’s new here!”

She goes scarlet. 

“Oh my, I’m so sorry, Lysander! You don’t have one, really, don’t worry!”

I laugh a bit. 

“It’s quite alright, miss. I’m sure I have one. I’m still working on my Japanese.” 

They’re all fawning on me by now. I could get used to this. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on our other friends. One moment, ladies.”

The other table happens almost the exact same way, but with different hairstyles and cake orders- they order two of the cherry and two of the vanilla-almond. 

I’m not expecting the gasps I get when I roll the cakes over and cut their slices.

“Oh, my, Lysander, these look so amazing! Who’s the new designer? I want to tell my father about him!”

It was pigtails that asked that. I dodge the question. 

“Here’s your cake, Miss Sato. Can I get you all anything else?”

Blondie answers for her.

“No, we’ll be okay! Thank you, Lysander!”

My ‘You’re quite welcome, Mademoiselle.” Earns me a blushy smile that I use to make my escape. 

I’m not sure why, but I don’t want anyone to know I’m the designer yet. 

The other table has a similar reaction, but I manage to give them the slip on it too. 

I might as well check on the host tables, right? I’m not sure what else to do otherwise, and Honey’s gone a full 20 minutes without any cake. I’d say he’s jonesing for more sugar, but it feels like that would be a little too accurate. The tray of cupcakes Kyoya mentioned is on the second shelf of my cart anyway, so…

“Good afternoon, ladies!”

“JAMIEEEEEEEEE!”

“Good afternoon to you as well, Honey, Mori.”

There’s a girl with caramel-colored hair sitting in-between Honey and Mori, and another two with black hair across from her, but one has her hair pulled into a chignon, and the other has a braided crown. 

“You’re the new waiter, right? Honey said that Kyoya hired you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say he hired me, but Kyoya’s the one who wanted me to join and handled my negotiations. Can I interest you all in anything to eat?”

I’ve already plated a half-dozen cupcakes for Honey, so I slide those down in front of him. 

“Well, I mean, we know Honey’s interested, but can I get you ladies anything? 

The girl with the bun- Miss Nomura- orders a slice of the cherry-vanilla, and the caramel haired girl- Miss Ueda- buys two slices of the vanilla-almond and offers one to Miss Fujiwara- braid crown- who quietly accepts. 

Hmm. Interesting. I wonder if there will be two “Miss Ueda’s” in the future. 

I stack another six cupcakes up in front of Honey, then politely take my leave. 

Tamaki’s the closest, so I head up to him next. He’s doing his normal: ‘my princess, please drink coffee from my mouth’ or whatever, so I quietly address the girls he isn’t talking with.

“Sorry to butt in- but can I get you ladies anything to eat or drink? More tea?”

The girl closest to me has a shock of coily red hair.

“Pardon, but, who are you?”

I turn the charm up. 

“Ah, where are my manners? My name is Lysander, James Lysander. I’m the new waiter for Ouran’s host club. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

The charm worked apparently- she’s blushing. 

“Oh- my name is Kojima Mieko. It- It’s nice to meet you too!”

Tamaki takes notice that I’m here, finally.

“James! What great timing! I was just worrying my guests would become hungry.”

He turns to Kojima.

“My love, would you care for anything?”

“Well- I’m not sure, Lysander, what do you have? 

She totally just curved him- for me? 

I walk her through the options for sandwiches, then cake. She’s my first double order- a piece of lemon-lavender cake and a cucumber sandwich. 

The other two girls seem just as enchanted. They each ask for a slice of the lavender-lemon as well, and I let them flirt with me while I serve them. 

The two girls across from Tamaki are Murata Ren, who has henna freckles and straight brown hair, and Takagi Tomi, who wears her black hair in a ribbon- Dutchess Takagi Tomi and Baroness Murata Ren, by the way. So I was right about the nobility thing. 

“Well, Baroness, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but I should go see about the other tables, yeah?”

“Oh, well, if you can’t stay a minute, will you at least tell us when you intend to become a host?”

I fake out a laugh. 

“Oh, Miss Murata, I’m not going to be a host.”

Kojima cuts in.

“Lysander, whyever not?”

“I don’t think I have the strength to do it. Besides, being a host would be so boring to me.”

I know at this point I’m just showing off, but I keep going, gently placing her cake down in front of her and looking into her eyes. 

“It would be near criminal to spend so much more time being admired than doing the admiring.” 

She actually swoons, the way women do in old movies, and I decide to get the hell out of dodge before Tamaki freaks. Honey calls me over to their table, and I drop off another six cupcakes for him. People are going to start running out of tea soon, and if they’ve already eaten, they’ll want a palate cleanser. Peppermint tea will do just fine.

I duck into the prep room and put some water on to boil. I head back into the main club room and plate up the rest of the cake individually. Kyoya’s holding down the fort at his table just fine, but I look across the room to see Kaoru waving at me. Guess I’m off to watch twincest porno. Bleh. 

“Hikaru. Kaoru. You needed something?”

Hikaru leans back in his chair. 

“Yeah, we wanted to see what you had left to eat.”

“Of course. We’ve still got all the types of cake, and I’m getting peppermint tea started for a palate cleanser. What would you like?”

One of the girls they’re ‘entertaining’ interrupts me.

“Oh, do you have any of that cake with the blue insides? I saw the other girls eating it, and it looked really good.”

Ugh. 

“Yes, we do. You can settle your tab at the end of the month.”

My voice is ice-rigid, even as I try to keep it balmy. 

I handle them with the best grace I can, and then quickly make my exit. Maybe they’ll mistake my hostility for some sort of front. 

Honey probably wants more cake by now, and then the tea’ll be ready. I drop off the last six cupcakes with him, then head into the prep room to make tea. I end up dropping by Haruhi’s table with the first teapot, the second loaded onto the cart for Kyoya’s table. 

“Hey, Haruhi! Sorry I’m only getting to you now. And good afternoon, ladies. I hope you guys didn’t run out of tea or anything.”

Haruhi’s a natural entertainer. The teapot’s empty, but nobody seems to have noticed- all eyes are on him. I work in the quiet wake of Haruhi’s voice- pouring tea and serving up the last three pieces of the vanilla-almond cake. 

I haul my cart to the back of the room and load up the other vanilla-almond cake. 

Kyoya’s girls are all sort of entertaining themselves- he’s writing in that damn notebook again. 

“Good afternoon, Ladies, Kyoya. I hope you’re having a nice time. Can I interest you in anything to eat? I’ve brought a fresh pot of tea for you all.”

Kyoya looks up- and smiles. The real one. 

“Good afternoon, James. You’re managing the tables quite well.”

I smile back. 

“Thanks, Kyoya.”

Wait. Fuck. The clients.

I turn back to the guests.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Where are my manners? My name is Lysander. James Lysander. Can I get you anything to eat?”

It turns out I was right, the girls who sign up for Kyoya ARE matronly. 

I pour tea for them as we go over what they could eat. 

While they’re not looking, I slip a cup over in front of Kyoya. 

They decide on two slices of cherry-vanilla and two slices of lemon-lavender, so I plate those up and arrange their tabs. 

I spend the last ten minutes or so restocking my cart and making more tea.

Then, between timeslots, there’s a five-minute break I use to clean off the tables and put out fresh tea. 

Well, I try to, but Tamaki is carrying on about something, so after I put the last two pots of tea on my cart, I head over to the circle of other boys. 

They’re all the way across the room from me, so I can hear Tamaki’s voice getting steadily louder as I approach. 

“...stole all my attention! He came up and they all fell in love with him! He’s gonna take all my customers Kyoya you have to DOOOOOOOOO SOMETHING!”

Ah. It appears my charm from earlier worked a bit TOO well.

Nobody’s noticed me yet, so I stand a little away from the circle and watch Haruhi try to calm him down. 

“Tamaki, please calm down! He’s doing his job! Didn’t Kyoya want to bring him on so he could keep the girls entertained?”

Maybe I’m digging my own grave, but I should probably talk to him about this.

“Tamaki, chill out! I’m not stealing your customers. I don’t even want to host. And Haruhi already has that whole ‘gentle-commoner’ thing going. I’m not stealing anybody’s gig, really!”

He does not chill out- as a matter of fact he comes up and starts shaking my shoulders. 

“WHO CARES ABOUT WHO’S GOT WHAT TROPE? YOU’RE STEALING MY CLIENTS!!! KYOYA, FIRE HIM AT ONCE!”

I shove him off me.

“Tamaki, how are you going to fire me if I’m not even getting paid? They’re still your clients, lay off me!”

Kyoya clears his throat. 

“Tamaki. Please calm down. Part of the arrangement we all have is that James doesn’t host. He’s not going to steal your clients, because he can’t without becoming a host.”

I cut in.

“And I have no intention of doing that, so will you knock it off?”

“Fine, but stay away from my clients!”

Kyoya slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Tamaki. Really. Calm down. And, James, more importantly, where did you learn to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Flirt. Miss Kojima practically died over there. Have you worked as a host before?”

“No, not at all- but I’ve been acting my whole life. It’s really not so hard, just a matter of looking for what makes each girl pick what host. Once I think up the lines they want, it’s easy. Everyone’s a pattern, and patterns can be figured out.”

It’s just me and Kyoya talking now. Everyone else is silent. Watching us. Tamaki even stopped thrashing. 

“That’s a very interesting notion, in its own way.”

Quiet, for one beat. Two. 

Haruhi breaks the silence that settled over us. 

“Guys, the next timeslot starts soon. We should be getting ready.”

Mori speaks next.

“Come along, Mitsukuni. Our guests will be here soon.”

The other boys peel off from the group, slowly and quietly, until it’s just me and Kyoya. 

“I had better go get ready.”

“Yes. Our guests will be here soon.”

I turn my back on Kyoya, but I can feel his stare.

The next round of appointments is the same as the first, but they kill off five and a half more cakes- the second round of appointments seems to have way more girls. Honey knocks off six more cupcakes and two entire cakes by himself, though, so I can’t really be too brutal on anyone else. 

I end up running around like a chicken with its head cut off, but everyone seems to find me charming.

I’ll be fair to it though- I missed acting while I was abroad, and this is sorta like playing a love interest for a show. 

I don’t hate it. 

At 5:30, the girls all start to filter out. The other boys fold up doilies and napkins to be washed and change out the flowers as I carry the dishes to a sink and cover up what’s left for tomorrow. 

Once everythings in place, I grab my bag from the prep room and get out my second tupperware of apple slices. I’ll eat these on my way downstairs. 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then!”

Hikaru gives me a look. 

“What, you’re leaving?”

I give him a look right back.

“Yeah? The guests are gone?”

Kaoru answers me before Hikaru can. 

“Oh- You wouldn’t know because you’re new like Haruhi was. See, we all hang out in the club room until six, and then our cars come to get us. You technically don’t have to stay, but it’s what everyone else does.”

That’s new. 

“Oh. Alright, I guess. Can I eat? I brought a snack along.”

Kyoya answers me, although he doesn’t look up from his laptop. 

“Certainly. Haruhi studies, I work on the budget, whatever. We just hang out for a while.”

I plop down on the couch next to him. 

“Speaking of tabs, do you want mine from today?”

He pushes his glasses up. 

“Sure. I’ll put those in now.”

I pull the notepad I used earlier from my schoolbag and hand it over to him. 

“Hey, this is a lot of sales. How’d you do all this? A lot of these are double orders.”

“Eh. If you layer the smiles on thick enough, people will buy anything. The secret was finding out that if you come back by to check up on them, they buy something else.”

Hikaru leans over the couch behind us. 

“You’re quite shrewd, huh?”

“Lay off, Hikaru. It comes in handy.”

Kyoya’s tapping away on his laptop again. 

“This will come in handy, actually. Keep this up and we might end up making a small profit on your sales.”

I open the container of apple slices and bite into one. My watch says it’s 5:37. Might as well do my Japanese practice, right? 

I pull the workbook out of my bag- it’s the third out of three, called “Highway to fluency” and while it feels a bit embarrassing to be using a workbook made for children, Hikaru left to go pester Haruhi, so I don’t care. I’m about halfway through the workbook by now- page 172, conjugating the verbs: to leave, to return, and to go. 

I get through half the apple and a third of the page before I hit a roadblock. I spend a few minutes scribbling in my margins, flipping back and forth between the dictionary in the back of the book and the page, trying to figure out the right conjugation for the past-indicative form of ‘return’ without letting on that I’m an idiot.

I’m red in the face by the time one of Kyoya’s hands grabs my pencil, and in very quiet english, he goes:

“See how these all have different endings?”

He doesn’t wait for my answer. 

“They’re all similar, but plain past-indicative and plain past-presumptive have the most in common, you see? That tells us that the negative versions of those words will be conjugated similarly to the positive. The same goes for the polite versions.”

I take my pencil back.

“So, then- this one’s the right answer?”

He grabs my hand- the one holding the pencil, yes, but-

He circles the answer I’m pointing to. 

And then he doesn’t let go of my hand for several seconds afterwards. He seems to realize his hand is still over mine a moment too late, and he snatches it back. 

And then we’re both blushing.

I switch back to Japanese. 

“Uh. Thanks. Do you- do you want an apple slice?”

He’s smiling that tiny smile again, but he looks abashed. 

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

There’s a lull between us for a moment before he asks another question. 

“Say, how are you still working on conjugations if you’re in high school?”

“Well, the speaking portion of the exam was easy. Speaking is different from writing, though. My Japanese exam was the hardest of all, but a large part of it was multiple choice, not writing. My english exam balanced it out- you had to write a short story, and I’m good at those. I have a few other things that made me a model student, and not a lot of other kids applied to the scholarship.”

“A few other things that made you a model student? Like what?”

I turn back to my workbook. 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, Kyoya.”


	9. in which there is a song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you get when you’ve got one boy entirely too prideful for feelings and another who flirts like a prostitute? 
> 
> tension, tension, tension! 
> 
> But don’t worry: things will get a bit more “interesting” before anything of note happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to kaz for proofreading and love!
> 
> thank you to anyone and everyone who comes across my work, i hope you enjoy it
> 
> without further ado, the chapter!

A little before six, Honey and Mori get the call from their driver to meet out front of the school. 

Tamaki follows suit a minute later, and Haruhi agrees to accompany him to his car. 

I start packing away my things- it’s lucky I had the chance to do my Japanese practice during club hours. That gives me a little extra free time tonight. 

The twins walk with me and Kyoya to the school’s courtyard, and I wave goodbye to them as they get into their car and pull away. 

I turn to Kyoya. How is it that we always end up alone? 

I mean, not that I’m complaining. 

“Well, I suppose this is where we split, eh? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“It’s dark out.”

“What?”

“It’s dark outside. You should let me call you a car.”

“No way, Kyoya.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t worry about that. Case-point, thank you for offering, but no. I’m a big kid. I can walk home myself.”

I sit down on the edge of the fountain and pull my skates out.

“Whatever you say, James. But I wish you’d be more careful. Falling stars aren’t always worth catching.”

My face feels hot. 

He can’t be serious, can he? What does that even mean?

I look up from where I’m cinching my skates on. 

“Kyoya, what on earth are you talking about? I don’t blame you for falling or myself for trying to catch you. You shouldn't either. So if that’s what this is- pity that I got hurt- you should lay off.”

“It’s not like that.”

“So then what is it?”

He’s blushing. Why is HE blushing? 

“All our host club members would get this level of worry. The city is dangerous at night.”

I let a silence settle as I finish getting my skates on, then stand. 

“So then why don’t you call a car for Haruhi?”

“He’s different.”

Kyoya’s pointedly looking away from me. I’m taller than him in my skates. 

You know what? 

Fuck it.

I grab him by the chin and force him to look up at me. 

“How so?”

He’s staring at me, stupidly, tensely. His face is hot under my hand. 

I let the question linger for a moment, then drop my hand off his face. 

“Goodnight, Kyoya. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I skate out of the courtyard and into the night as he watches- silently this time. 

The settling night chill hits me on my way home, and it’s cold against my reddened face. 

What the fuck am I doing?

Kyoya cares about me getting home alright. 

Huh. 

Well. 

About halfway home, my phone rings.

Otoori Akito, wondering when I’m free to spar again. 

Apparently my life is just full of Otoori boys lately. 

I can leave Ouran around 5:40, so we agree to meet at the same practice room this Wednesday, around 6:15. Hopefully my knee will be better by then. At least by now I’m certain that he can’t be related to Kyoya- if he was, why would he practice at my gym? 

Lexi’s not home when I unlock the house. She must have left early to meet with Ri for drinks or to go see uncle. I guess dinner’s up to me. 

I dump my bag in my bedroom and change out of my uniform. The kitchen radio’s finished playing the news by this time, so I listen to some music while I make a pot of mac’n’cheese and cut up some carrots. There’s still time while the pasta cooks, so I pop the tab on a can of grape soda and lean back against the counter. 

They’re playing a song I know on the radio- part of a weeknight music showcase from different countries.

It’s a very old song, and a sad one. They teach it in schools- about a girl in the valley who falls in love with a nobleman, who leaves and forsakes her. 

_Now she sleeps in the valley where the wildflowers nod, and no-one knows she loved him but herself and God._

_If ye be a lass from the low-country,_

_don’t love on no lord of high degree-_

_they ain’t got the heart for sympathy,_

_oh sorrow, sing sorrow._

_Now she sleeps in the valley where the wildflowers nod, and no-one knows she loved him but herself, and God._

The timer dings- my dinners’ ready- and the next song starts playing. 

I finish making my dinner, throw the pot in the sink, and take the plate into my bedroom to start my homework. 

A little over two hours later, I’m done. 9:07. 

It’s cold outside. I open my window anyway. 

So, Kyoya Otoori cares about me getting home safely. 

I force my brain off and start cleaning up my room. 

Once my room is clean and I’m ready for school tomorrow, I head into the bathroom, take my shower, and do my testosterone shot. 

I close my window and crawl into bed, even though it’s still early. Then I lay awake for another few hours, till exhaustion finally creeps up on me, and I fall into a dreamless sleep. 

Tuesday morning is the same as every other morning- until I get to school, anyway. There are eyes on me in the hallway, even though I’m early. I keep my headphones on as I walk to class. 

Tamaki comes up to me once we’re in class, with Kyoya silently in tow. 

“Good morning, James! Have a nice day after club?”

“Good morning. Yeah, I did. You?”

“Definitely! Shima let me eat dinner in my room, so I got to watch a movie.”

I laugh a little. 

“And how about you, Kyoya?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good.”

We’re not being hostile, but we’re not exactly being friendly. 

The bell rings the before-class warning.

“You’d better get to your seats. School starts soon.”

“Yes, we had.”

Kyoya turns on his heel and marches off. 

Tamaki looks back and forth between us for a moment, then walks back up to his desk. 

I guess we’re pretending yesterday didn’t happen. That’s probably for the best. 

But at the end of the day, after lunch and elective classes, after the club hours, after Japanese practice, when we all troop out to leave- he does it again. 

We’re standing in the courtyard, waving goodbye to the others, and in that quiet, unwavering voice-

“Will you let me call you a car?”

“No. But I like you asking.”

Silence for a few seconds- wind is blowing through the collumned breezeways.

Did I really just say that?

“I’ll keep asking then. Until you say yes.”

“Goodnight, Kyoya.”

“Goodnight, James.”

He watches me leave. 

I make manicotti for dinner, do my homework, and fall asleep on top of the covers with a book in my hands. 

The alarm clock rings ten minutes early Wednesday and I hastily repack my gym pack. We’re out of apple bread by now, so I boil two eggs, eat a slice of cheese on toast, grab both my bags, and hit the road. I end up forgetting to leave a note for Lexi, so I rattle off a text to her once I get to school. She’ll be at work when I come home anyway. 

I’m a bit later than normal by now, so I end up walking with Tamaki to class- Kyoya evidently went on ahead. 

The rest of the morning is normal, but disaster strikes at lunch- I’d packed mine up and put it on the counter, yes, but I’d forgotten it, which also meant no before-practice snack. 

To add insult to injury, Tamaki gets Mori to strongarm me into the cafeteria, despite me literally kicking and loudly insisting that I didn’t want to go. 

I end up sandwiched between the Hitachiins with no lunch and significantly less dignity than I had ten minutes ago. 

Tamaki also loudly asks why I’m not eating, and between being hungry and being embarrassed, I don’t answer him, just stand up and leave. 

I spend the rest of the lunch break outside, reading a book and jonesing for a cig. I settle on going through the motions of a smoke break with a toothpick. 

I wait an extra minute after the warning bell before heading back to class. I don’t really want to deal with Tamaki right now, however good his intentions were.

I sneak in just before the teacher does and manage to ignore my stomach growling for the next couple of hours. I put on a false cordiality for the club girls and muscle through till they leave. My hand’s on the door, about to leave, when Tamaki comes running across the club room at me. 

“JAMES! I’m so sorry! Please don’t be angry with me anymore! I didn’t mean to offend you-“

“Tamaki, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“At lunch today in the dining hall! You ran off. We must have said something!”

He collapses to his knees in front of me. 

“Please, on behalf of the club, accept my apology!”

What?

“Tamaki. Calm down. I forgive you. I just forgot my lunch at home today, and I can’t afford to eat at the school’s cafeteria. So I was planning on going to sit somewhere and wait it out.”

“Then why are you leaving early today?”

“I’m meeting at the gym near my apartment with a boy I met over the weekend. We’re supposed to spar.”

Everyone else has apparently been watching us, but Hikaru speaks first. 

“What, you’re gonna go beat some guy up?”

“No, Hikaru, It’s just a practice. Really, I’m just mad I missed lunch.”

I force out a half-laugh. 

“It’s gonna be hard on an empty stomach, and I don’t wanna be late.”

“What, you’re just gonna go workout when you haven’t eaten anything?”

“Well. Yeah. He’s the only guy I’ve seen practice boxing in all of my time in Japan. I can’t miss it.”

Kyoya looks up from his laptop. 

“You practice boxing?”

“I mean. Technically, yeah, I do, but I’ve never been professionally trained.”

“Hmm. Mori, can you get James a few protein bars from the prep room?”

I interrupt him. 

“Absolutely not. I don’t have any money, I can’t afford one.”

Everyone looks at me like I’ve grown an extra head as Kyoya answers me. 

“You’re in the club. They’re free.”

Mori’s already back from the prep room, and he slaps two brightly-wrapped protein bars into my hand. 

“Oh. Alright. Well I can’t be late- I have to go. Thank you for the snack.”

I check my watch. 5:42- FUCK! 

I call my goodbyes over my shoulder as I book it down the stairs for the courtyard, unwrapping the protein bar and shoving it into my mouth as I go. I pause for a few moments once I’m outside, hastily strapping my skates on. 

I pitch headfirst down the streets towards the gym, and I make it with four minutes to spare before we’re meeting. I’m still rushing, yeah, but at least I’m not mega late. 

I sign in, change, and jog my way towards the practice room with my waterbottle, mouthguard, and that extra protein bar. 

6:16. Otoori’s waiting for me, stretching in a corner. 

“Hey, Lysander!”

“Hey there, Otoori! You ready to get started?”

“For sure. And if we’re gonna be practicing together, you can call me Akito.”

“Ah, thank you. You can call me James.”

We launch into the first set, and while he’s much more experienced than me, my knees are back to working, so I’m a bit better. 

We spend the first set practicing blocks and agility, although Akito lets me favor my right hand. 

Stretch break, where I scarf down my other power bar, and Akito is polite enough not to point out the fact that I’m acting like I haven’t eaten in weeks. 

After that, we start attacks. 

He’s going a lot harder on me by now, and when it’s my turn to hold the blocking pads, I do the same for him. 

Then, finally, finally, finally, we pop in our mouthguards and start properly fighting. 

According to Akito, being untrained goes to both my advantage and my disadvantage. It makes me an unorthodox fighter, but it also means I don’t have the best idea of how normal attack patterns work in fights.

Nobody actually wins the fight- it is just a practice- but we’re both still standing when the timer hits zero. 

“You’re really not bad, especially for such a young guy. We should meet up next week and practice again.”

“For sure. See you then, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I trod off towards the locker rooms, shower down, and start towards home. 

It’s nearly 8:30 when I get home, so I eat dinner leaning over my sink while doing my Japanese practice. 

When I’m done eating, I drag my bags back into my bedroom and start my homework. 

Over two hours later, brain-dead and with my hands covered in graphite, I’m done. I get ready for bed, and before I go to sleep, I check my phone. 

One new text- from Kyoya. 

From: kyoya.o @ 10:39 PM

“ did you eat after your practice? and for future reference, anyone in the club would have bought you a lunch. ”

From: James.L @ 11:26 PM

“ yeah. and thanks for the sentiment, but id hate to call in favors when you haven’t even known me a week. ”

From: kyoya.o @ 11:28 PM

“ it’d be alright. it’s only a lunch. ”

From: James.L @ 11:31 PM

“ i guess, yeah ”

From: kyoya.o @ 11:32 PM

“ i’ll see you tomorrow, james ”

From: James.L @ 11:33 PM

“ goodnight ”

From: kyoya.o @ 11:34 PM

“ goodnight ”

It feels stupid, to smile about a goodnight text. 

I turn off the light and pull the covers over myself. 

But it’s dark now, and since nobody can see me, I let myself smile as I fall asleep. 

Thursday passes like any other day- wake up, listen to the news, walk to homeroom, avoid the boys to eat lunch in the clock tower. Wish you had a cigarette, attend your electives and foreign language classes, then go set up the club room. 

I flirt my way through the customers, and it’s not until I stop by Haruhi’s table in the second session anything of interest happens. 

“Oh, Haruhi, will the party be themed?”

I look up from pouring tea.

“What party?”

The girl talking is one of Haruhi’s regulars: Masuda Yuko.

“Oh, Lysander, haven’t you heard?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t, Miss Masuda. What party?”

“The host club is having a spring ball next friday!”

Haruhi fills me in the rest of the way.

“Kyoya told us about it yesterday, after you left for your boxing practice.”

“Oh- I assume I need to attend?”

“Probably. You should ask him after club today.”

Another one of the guests- Nakamura Hayami- cuts in next.

“Wait a minute- Lysander, you do boxing?”

“Well, Miss Nakamura, I’ve never been classically trained, but I do practice pretty regularly.”

Ramp up the smile.

“I’m not very good, but I like the training!”

She blushes- mission success!

I spend the rest of the timeslot flirting around the tables and pouring tea. It’s really not so bad, this host club stuff. 

At 5:30, the girls all shuffle out, and I plunk down on the couch with Kyoya to eat my snack and practice my Japanese. Halfway through, I remember what Haruhi said- a party. 

“Hey, Kyoya. Haruhi said something earlier about a party?”

“Oh, of course. You missed it yesterday. We’ll be hosting a dance party in the school’s largest hall next friday. It’s not any particular theme, just formal attire. You are expected to attend, but I suppose you still have the option not to. We can’t make you, anyway.”

“Well, I’d like to go, but I’m not sure if I have work that weekend, and I don’t know how to dance.”

Tamaki runs over and flops down on the sofa across from us.

“Oh, but James, you have to attend! We have live musicians set to play for us, and any girl you could want will be there for you to dance with!”

“Tamaki- the party sounds like plenty of fun, but I don’t know how to ballroom dance and I don’t like girls.”

“Wait- if you don’t like girls, who do you like?”

He’s such a toad. 

“Tamaki, use your head. I like men.”

“What? But boys are supposed to like girls!”

I fix him with a death glare that makes him shrink back a little in his seat. 

“Tamaki, you obviously have a crush on Haruhi, and he’s a boy. Just because you crave validation doesn’t make you straight, and you’re definitely not the be-all, end-all of opinions. You probably two-pump chump to gay porno. Do not project your issues with your sexuality onto me. You can discuss that with your therapist.”

He whimpers a little. 

I shoot him a look that makes him curl in on himself.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes s-sir.”

“Good.”

Hikaru and Kaoru are leaning over the couch behind him.

“Damn, James.”

Kaoru continues where Hikaru left off. 

“You’re really scary when you’re upset, you know that?”

My smile snaps back on with a laugh. 

“Whatever. Anyway, Kyoya, like I said, I don’t know how to dance the way you’d want me to, and I might have work the next day.”

“Work? Jobs are forbidden in the handbook.”

“Eh. Only if they catch you, right? I do a lot of one-time gigs with my uncle, it’s not a job.”

“I suppose you’re right. If you’re free that night and you want to go, though, I can teach you to waltz. And you’ll probably attract some more guests.”

“Alright, I guess. We can practice after I finish my workbook, yeah?”

“Sure. There should be some time before we leave.”

Hikaru’s voice, cold and laughing, cuts across our conversation. 

“What workbook- don’t tell me you’re still using a children’s education textbook?”

I switch back to english when I’m angry, and this is no exception. 

“You can go to hell, you brother-fucking cuck. And I’m nearly done with the workbook, so get bitched!”

Long pause. He answers me in Japanese. 

“I don’t know what a good half of those words were.”

“Aw, what, you don’t learn swears?”

“Not whatever those were.”

“Bo-ring!”

I turn back to Kyoya.

“Anyway, I’m nearly done with this. Do we have to set anything up?”

“Hikaru, Kaoru. Do you mind getting the CD player out?”

Kaoru pushes up from his position, leant over the couch. 

“Fine by me. Come on, Hikaru.”


	10. in which there is some dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is a good dancer, but what’s the harm in lessons? Especially from Kyoya. Naturally, of course, party preparations snowball into something a bit more formal- but let’s not jump to any conclusions. Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, eternally, to kaz, who has told me this is his: “favorite new romance anime.”
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads or enjoys my work, thank you for all the new kudos, and sorry for such a late-night upload, normally they come out at about 6pm EST.
> 
> Now, without further ado: the chapter!

Kyoya finishes getting the CD player set up, and I go over to meet him in the gap at the center of the room, ringed by the tables and couches. 

“So, how are we supposed to do this? Are you going to lead the dance, or am I?”

“Well, if you’re going to the party, then girls will undoubtedly ask you to dance. You ought to learn to lead.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll be honest, though, I only remember the rhythm of it. For a lot of formal dances back in the states, you just sort of stand together and spin.”

“Then we’ll start from the beginning.”

That’s a lie. I’ve danced once or twice before, with uglier boys who had much more interest in feeling me up than actually dancing. 

Teaching me this was unnecessary. He doesn’t need to do it. There would be any number of girls willing to teach me, or I could just opt out of the dancing. 

Why do it? 

He gains nothing.

The other boys are watching us. 

He presses play, and waltz music blares out of the tinny speakers. 

“Place your right hand here, on my waist, and mine goes to your shoulder. Then our other hands meet out like this, you see?”

I forgot this was the position you dance the waltz in, and I’m blushing. Fuck. 

“Yeah, and then what?”

“We move in a box shape in time to the music. So when you step forward, I step back, and then we step to the right. Then I step forward, and you step back. Always in time, like this.”

He steps back, so I follow him and step forward. 

_One-two-three, One-two-three, One-two-three._

He drops my hand after a few clunky rounds of the box-step. 

“See? You’re getting the hang of it. We can practice more tomorrow, but it’s nearly time for our cars to come by.”

My face feels hot. 

“Alright. Tomorrow.”

Everyone gathers up their bags and troops out of the club room, then marches off downstairs. Honey and I slide down the banisters, then have to run halfway back up and walk with the others. 

And reliable as ever, when Honey and Mori head off for their dojos, the twins head off to wherever their mansion is, and Haruhi and Tamaki head off home, Kyoya turns to me. 

“Will you let me call you a car?”

“Maybe after the party, if it’s late. But tonight I can get home by myself.”

I sit down on the fountain ledge and start pulling my skates on. 

There's a silence in the courtyard for a moment. 

“Will you at least call me when you get home?”

Call him- when I get home? 

My head snaps up to look at him, and my face feels like it’s made of fire. 

“Uh- sure. I can do that.”

He’s blushing too. 

I get my other skate on with fumbly fingers as fast as I can. I’m certain I look the opposite of suave right now, but whatever. 

“Alright, then. See you, rich boy.”

I skate out of the courtyard and into the night as his goodbye fades behind me on the wind. 

Lexi’s on her way out to work when I get in. She left me a pot of chilli on the stove, so after we say our goodbyes, I start up a salad to eat with it. 

I guess it’s time to call Kyoya. 

I press call and then set my phone to speaker. I nestle it down on the window ledge and keep chopping the lettuce. 

He picks up on the first ring. 

“Hey.”

“Hey. You said to call me when I got home- and I’m home, so.”

“I figured. What’s that noise?”

“Oh. I’m making a salad to go with dinner, so I’m chopping some stuff up. Sorry if it’s loud.”

“No, it’s no issue. You have to make your own dinner?”

“Yeah. I make a lot of my own meals. One of the things that comes with being a latchkey.”

“What on earth is a latchkey?”

“Oh. I read it in a book once. The kids who come home to empty houses are latchkey children. Lexi’s generally around, but she works evenings, so she’s asleep when I go to school and out at work by the time I get home from the club.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being a latchkey child.”

“Well, your aunt- you’d be able to spend more time with her if you weren’t in the club.”

“Kyoya, if I’m not upset about it, why are you?”

Silence. 

“Besides, correct me if I’m wrong, but you seem to be a latchkey child yourself, in a way. Everyone at Ouran probably is. If your parents work late or have business dinners without you, and you end up doing your schoolwork alone and eating with your, like, maid, that just sounds like being a latchkey boy with extra steps.”

More silence. 

Then,

“I guess you’re right. But I never thought about it like that.”

More silence- just the sound of me cooking. 

“I should let you go, Kyoya. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do.”

“Alright.”

“Goodbye, Kyoya.”

“Goodbye, James.”

A click, and then the line goes dead. 

It fills me with a strange sense of melancholy, to think of him all alone in that gargantuan house. 

I wonder if he eats dinner while he studies, like me. 

I troop into my bedroom, change out of my school clothes, and turn on a vinyl. 

Somewhere, across town, I wonder if Kyoya does the same. 

Friday morning dawns bright and persistent, and I slap a note on the fridge to Lexi before I leave, asking if we can order takeaway for dinner. 

Our class even gets lucky and watches a video for all of the science class.

Fridays are awesome. 

I’m in such a good mood that I don’t even mind it when Tamaki insists on me eating with the rest of the club (minus Haruhi) in the lunchroom. 

The twins balance my mood and spend half the lunch period gawking at my pasta salad and asking me weird questions about my lunch, but I manage to laugh them all off and escape outside for a fake cig break. 

I accidentally caught a whiff of a guy smoking one this morning on the way to school, and it makes me miss them a bit. Still, though, I can’t make myself do it, even though I know there’s a million ways for me to get one. I settle for chewing a few pieces of cinnamon gum and flicking at a toothpick. 

Haruhi seemingly pops out of nowhere. 

“Hey, James.”

There are girls in the corner of the schoolyard staring at us. I ruffle his hair. 

“Hey, Haruhi.”

“Wait, what are you doing out here? Did the boys force you to eat with them?”

“Yeah. They weren’t insufferable, but I’ve never felt so scrutinized for eating a pasta salad.”

“What’s a pasta salad?”

“I’ll explain it another time. Where are you headed?”

“The library. I need to return a history book.”

“I’ll go with you. I’ve been wanting to see the libraries here.”

We spend the rest of the lunch break in Ouran’s main library. I end up checking out a book of traditional European fairy tales, translated into Japanese. Haruhi gets a book about art history, and then we go our separate ways for class. 

Later, at club, somebody’s let it slip that I’m going to the party, so I have to spend several minutes explaining that at each un-hosted table. Lots of girls want to dance with me, apparently. Miss Kojima, from Tamaki’s table, and Miss Takahashi, from one of my unhosted tables, even offer to teach me. 

I tell the girls that I would be more than delighted to learn from them, but that I can’t, because ‘to leave one of our other dear friends unattended would be rude.’ 

James Lysander, flattering women into silence since 2003! 

It’s half true, I guess. I can’t leave my other tables unattended, even though they’d be perfectly fine, if not green with envy. 

The other reason that I don’t want to learn from one of the clients, the truer one, is because after the girls leave, I get to learn dancing with Kyoya. 

And I’ll be honest- that’s probably going to be the highlight of today.

So maybe, just maybe, I rush through my Japanese practice. 

Kyoya hauls out the CD player, and everyone gathers around to watch us. Even Haruhi looks up from his books. 

My hand on his waist, then his on my shoulder. 

_One-two-three, One-two-three, One-two-three._

He starts talking about reverse and natural turns, and I use the excuse of being a beginner to look at my feet and avoid his eyes. In all truth, I spent twenty minutes last night box-stepping around my room. It’s muscle memory by now.

We start on reverse turns, making this sort of triangle in our steps.

“You’re supposed to look at your dancing partner.”

My eyes snap up from my feet. 

“Sorry about that.”

We dance for a moment more, and he speaks again. 

“Hey. James. Why are you pretending not to know how to do this?”

“Huh- What?”

“You obviously either knew how to do it before, or you went home and practiced. So why are you pretending like you need to look down at your boots?”

We’re whispering, yes, but I can still feel the other boys eyes on me. Kyoya’s blushing too, but not nearly as much as I am. He looks rosy, I probably look like a damn tomato. 

“I don’t know.”

“Well stop it. It’s bad etiquette.”

“Mm.”

I’m looking up at him a bit more, letting my feet do the dancing instead of my brain. 

We dance another few turns, and then the music stops. 

The other boys are still watching us. Calculating.

I break the painfully awkward silence. 

“Thank you for teaching me to dance, Kyoya.”

“You’re quite welcome. We’ll finish working on it next week.”

“It’s late. We should probably start heading home, yeah?”

He checks his watch. 

“Yeah, probably.”

He turns out to the group. 

“Let’s go, guys. The drivers will be here soon.”

We all start gathering up our things and troop out the door. Tamaki pleads to carry Haruhi’s bag, and eventually he gives in and accepts a ride home as well. Honey asks me if I want a ride, and I tell him I’m gonna wait for Kyoya to get in his car, then skate home.

“After all, the city is incredibly dangerous at night.”

Kyoya snorts back a laugh. 

Honey looks back and forth between us, puzzled. Mori interrupts his thinking. 

“Come on, Mitsukuni. Car’s here.”

They head off for their car, and during all of this, the twins slipped away as well. 

“Well, Kyoya, I guess it’s time for me to go.”

I sit down on the fountain and pull out my skates. 

“Uh- hey.”

I don’t look up. 

“Yeah?”

“We need your designs for next week.”

“Oh, wait, yeah. I’ll run those up to your house or something tomorrow.”

“Actually, I was thinking.”

“Thinking what?”

“Well, if you’re going to attend the party, you’ll need a refresher in formal table etiquette.”

“Or I could just. Not eat.”

“It’s not just eating. It’s how you have to walk and talk and, like, use forks.”

I stand up.

“So then what are you suggesting?”

“Well, I’ve got that counseling session.”

“And?”

“We could go somewhere afterwards, and I could give you a refresher. Plus, then, you could give me your designs.”

Is he-

Is he asking what I think he is?

“I mean. That’s fine by me.”

“Alright then. Call me when you get home. We can figure it out then.”

“Alright. Uh. Bye!”

I take off, but I can hear him call after me. 

“Bye!”


	11. in which there is some thinking and some rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you’ll have to wait till Wednesday to see James and Kyoya on their “maybe-date” ; but in the interim, James has a few things to be handled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special AN today, before I get into the thank-yous:
> 
> As you know by now, James is a self-insert character. However, he has many different siblings from a large and diverse family, biological, adopted, and otherwise, of many ethnicities and nationalities. While I am white, and he IS a model of myself, I am leaving some of the details vague: his skin color is never mentioned, his hair texture is never mentioned, his specific ethnicity is never mentioned. Certain details; like scars left by injuries, may align more with lighter skin in the way they are described because that is the only way I know how to describe them. I am comforted by seeing someone like myself in media, even if it’s media I am creating. There is an extreme lack of representation in stories like this, and a large number of them are written by women fetishizing gay men. So if you find comfort or see yourself in James’ character, I want you to feel free to think that he looks like you, and know that he is written by someone like you.
> 
> Also, if you’re a woman who derives sexual pleasure from fetishizing mlm relationships, you can leave. As in, please skedaddle. And do not come back. Do not come near me with that.
> 
> Anyway, with all the important stuff done:
> 
> Thank you, Kaz, for proofreading for me all this time, even when I’ve written 20 chapters ahead.
> 
> Thank you to anyone who enjoys and supports my work.
> 
> Without further ado: the chapter

I actually flop against my apartment door when it closes and kick my feet a little.

I am going on a maybe-date with Kyoya Otoori! 

Lexi sticks her head around from the living room. 

“The hell happened to you?”

“Nothing. I’m going out tomorrow unless Uncle has a job for me.”

“I’ll leave your lunch money in the envelope. I don’t think father has anything planned.”

“Alright.”

I start off for my room, but she sticks her arm out and catches me. 

“It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

“I may or may not have been invited to practice formal table etiquette tomorrow at lunchtime.”

Lexi’s eyes widen.

“With who? A boy from school?”

“Relax. I’m not even sure it’s a date yet.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s definitely a date. I’ll leave you extra money with your lunch stuff. You should take a cab.”

“No way! We aren’t wasting money on a taxi. If you’re that worried about me skating, I’ll walk.”

“And if it rains?”

“I’ll carry an umbrella.”

“And if it’s cold?”

“I’ll wear a coat.”

“I’m ironing your suit when I get home from work tonight.”

“No way! It might not even be a date!”

She lets go of my arm and points to herself. 

“Axel, I’ve been going on dates since before you were born. This is definitely a date.”

“I’ll wear something nice. But not a suit.”

She shakes her head, and her afro bounces as she does. 

“Silly, silly boy.”

“Lexi, you’ll be late for work.”

“Oh, hell, you’re right! I left money for takeaway on the fridge, be careful when you open the door, see you tomorrow goodniiiiight!”

So she says it’s a date, huh?

Whatever. 

I change out of my school clothes, then head to the living room and call Kyoya.

I need something to do with my hands, so I put the phone on speaker as it rings and start sweeping. 

Click.

“Hello?”

“Hey. It’s James. You said we’d call and figure it out about tomorrow, so. Here I am.”

“I figured as much. Do you have any specific opinion on where we should go?”

“Somewhere cheap. I don’t get a lot for lunch money.”

“I’m paying. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because, that’s not fair.”

“I really don’t mind. And forgive me for my bluntness, but I don’t think your lunch money’s enough to buy you a meal anywhere we would need proper table etiquette.”

“You’re right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

I earn a tiny laugh with that. 

“How about we meet outside the counseling place after my session?”

“Fine by me. Hey, what should I wear?”

“Just something nice.”

“No duh.”

“Less than a suit but more than your uniform.”

“Alright, I can do that.”

“Bring your design book, too. We’ll pick out the designs for next week and the party.”

“Speaking of the party, is there any particular theme you want me to use?”

“No, but the cherry blossoms will be blooming. That’s something to work with.”

“Alright. I’ll see what I come up with.”

Long pause. Neither of us know what to say, and while I’m dying to ask, I can’t work up the nerve to ask if it’s a date. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then. I get out of my session at noon.”

“Okay. Goodnight, then, Monsieur Otoori.”

He laughs a little.

“Goodnight.”

I sit down with my back to the wall. 

Tomorrow. Noon. Lunch with Kyoya. 

I could just about die. 

I spend the rest of the night doing my weekend homework and chores. I’ll get my designs done tomorrow morning. I take an extra-long shower and use a tiny bit of Lexi’s facewash. No harm in looking a little nicer than normal, right? 

Tomorrow I’ll have to pick an outfit, get ready, and work out some designs. If it takes 45 minutes to walk there, I need to leave around 11 to be early, so I should wake up at nine. 

I’m so keyed up about tomorrow- I can’t decide if it’s nervousness or excitement- that it takes me an hour to fall asleep. 

  
  


My alarm clock rings at 9:00 the next morning, and I sit bolt upright and slap it to turn it off. 

Okay, that was overzealous even for me. 

I force myself to calm down. 

Okay. Okay. Okay. First order of business: breakfast. 

Lexi’s still asleep- she likely didn’t get home last night till 3. She’s probably gonna intentionally try to wake up early and force me into a suit, though, so I’ll make something for her too. 

Rice, eggs, and hot sauce with finely chopped bacon and green onion. Three cheers for hot sauce and green onion! 

Lexi takes hers with chili flakes, too, so I cover the pan and leave the canister next to it on the counter. 

I sit down at the table and start shoving my breakfast down. I click on the radio, and, just my luck, the weatherman says it’s going to rain all afternoon. 

Better not forget my umbrella, then. I can hear Lexi rattling around in her room, so I put my dish in the sink and go to take shelter before she can strongarm me into a fucking tuxedo. 

My bedroom is a perfect rectangle, and in the corner directly in front of the door, I have a clothing rack.  Most of my clothes are band t-shirts or sweaters, but I have a few nice button downs. I end up in a 60’s style, red, short-sleeve, tucked into slick, black bootcut jeans. 

There. Once I add a few chains and a belt, I’ll be all set. 

I plop down at my desk and pull my design book out. 

Cherry blossoms, huh? I can work with that.

When Lexi knocks on my door at around 10:30, she’s not holding my suit, which is a relief. 

“What are you doing? You have a date. You should be getting ready!”

“Lexi, I don’t need to start walking till 11. I’m basically ready. And it’s not a date!”

“It is most definitely a date. And you can’t wear that!”

“No it isn’t! And yes, I can! He said not to wear a suit!”

“No way! You need to wear a suit. When did he even say that?”

“I called him last night and he told me.”

“Oh, so now you have his phone number? This is SO a date! Liar!”

“I’m not a liar! And quit shouting, you’ll disturb the neighbors! I am not wearing a suit.”

“Fine, fine. Ignore your auntie. But if you look underdressed, that’s on you!”

“I’ll be alright! Quit hovering!”

She’s crossed the room to ruffle my hair. 

“Hey, whats with the book?”

“Design book. This book is the entire reason that this is not a date.”

“What? It’s definitely a date.”

“Lay off, it isn’t. There’s a party next friday for the club, and I am recommended to attend. Because it is a party, there will be refreshments, so they need my designs. That IS why I got asked to join up anyway.”

“Hmm. I still say it’s a date.”

I flop back in my chair.

“Lexi, you can check my outfit later. Now get out.”

“Fine, fine. But it’s a date, and you know it!”

“Whatever.”

Twenty minutes later, I come out of the bathroom from brushing my teeth in a black leather jacket, carrying my design book. 

I stop in the hallway in front of the living room and give Lexi a 360. She looks up from her plate and gives me a round of light applause. 

“Go get em’, little man!”

“Whatever you say, Lexi.”

I go to pull my boots on, and as I’m lacing them up, Lexi shoves around the doorway into the kitchen. 

“Hey, Axel!”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have your house keys?”

Then, before I can answer.

“And your phone? And an umbrella? And your lunch money? And will you be warm enough in that coat?”

“Yes, Lexi.”

My fingers still hurt a bit, so I’m only wearing rings on my left hand and right pinky.

“And why do you have so many rings on? What if he wants to hold hands and he gets a bunch of metal?”

“He’s not going to want to hold hands, because it isn’t a date!”

“Big old liar! It’s a date, and you know it!”

I open the door and turn to wave at her. 

“Goodbye, Lexi!”

“Lia-“

The door cuts her off. 

I pop open the umbrella and step out from under the door awning. 

Well then. Away we go. 

The rain is soft on the umbrella as I wind my way through the streets. 

I find myself quietly singing that song about the girl from the valley and the nobleman. 

_ One day when the sun was on the mead, _

_ he passed her door on a milk-white steed. _

_ She smiled and she spake,  _

_ but he paid no heed.  _

_ Sorrow, sing sorrow. _

_ Now she sleeps in the valley where the wildflowers nod, and no-one knows she loved him but herself, and God.  _

It feels like a warning. But, thinking on it, Kyoya knows next to nothing about me. How would he hurt me?

I am nothing to gain for him, so that gives him no reason to hurt me. 

Although romance is less of loss or gain, and more of want. 

The idea of: you give me nothing, and that is okay. You give me everything, and I give you everything in return. The idea that every interaction through love is made equal simply by being an interaction of love. 

Kyoya thinks in patterns, and lines, and numbers. I think in words and worlds of emotion. 

We’ll either cancel each other out, or we’ll clash horrifically. 

Or, I guess, we would balance. It’s an interesting tightrope I walk. And now Kyoya’s walking it with me. 

I force my brain off for the rest of the walk.


	12. in which there is only a business meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s only a business meeting. at least, that’s what James keeps telling himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: my parents are getting a divorce so things are a little wacky around here but i have the next twenty four chapters stockpiled for release, so updates will continue as normal. 
> 
> thank you to kaz for proofreading!
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys my work, and thank you all for your support!
> 
> without further ado: the chapter!

The rain’s falling a bit heavier by the time I get to the clinic. 

I get lucky, though. The schedule for each doctor is posted by the door, and there’s an awning.

**Suoh, Tamaki- 10:00, Dr. Hirano.**

**Otoori, Kyoya- 11:00, Dr. Arai.**

**Hitachiin, Kaoru- 2:00, Dr. Iwasaki.**

**Hitachiin, Hikaru- 2:00, Dr. Ando.**

That means I won’t run into any of the boys while I wait, which is probably for the best.

I fold my umbrella up, tap the water off, and lean against the building next to it. It’s one of those big, long-handled ones, made of wood with metal spines. I bought it secondhand the first weekend I was here, at the same shop I bought my schoolbag.

My watch says it’s 11:54. He’ll be out soon, then. 

I flick open the design book and scrawl out one more design while I wait. 

At 12:02 PM, Kyoya opens the door of the clinic. 

“Hey, James.”

I shut my design book and pick up my umbrella. 

And smile, in spite of myself. 

“Hey, Kyoya. Have a nice session?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“So, where to?”

“Well, it’s not too far, and for some reason, I get the feeling you don’t like cars. I’m going to have to call a ride anyway, though, I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I mean, you can if you want to, but I have an umbrella big enough for both of us.”

“Oh. Alright. Let’s go.”

I pop the umbrella open and we stand shoulder-to-shoulder under it. The place we’re headed for probably has dishes worth two weeks of rent.

It’s only a ten-minute walk uptown, and we’re there. The restaurant doesn’t even have a sign with its name. How rich do you have to be to not need a sign? 

They even have a doorman. You step inside and immediately get harassed by a wave of heat, and then a skinny girl in a pencil skirt who takes your coat. 

Kyoya handles the entrance with grace, but he’s not wearing a coat, and since I’m not expecting her, I nearly drop my pen. 

First impressions to the life of luxury?

This is fucking ridiculous. 

I do remember that only women get their chairs pulled out for them, so I manage to seat myself without causing any scenes. 

There are six fucking forks at my place, and three different cups. I remember cocktail, appetizer, salad, and dinner forks, and water cups and wineglasses, but what under sky is this?

The first thing they bring us is a basket of square bread rolls that look like they’re made of air, and a crock of butter. 

I make the first eye contact I’ve had with Kyoya in fifteen minutes, and I’m certain the words “HELP ME” might as well be written on my forehead. 

His voice is low. 

“Take one roll, lightly butter the top of it, and then put it on your bread plate. The waiter will be over in a moment with a water pitcher. Don’t move any of the cups. I called ahead to get a wine selection-“

“I don’t drink.”

“Well, I didn’t know, so I acted on the side of caution. It’s just sparkling grape juice.”

“Oh.”

Leave it to Kyoya to think of everything. 

“So, he’ll do that. Then, another man will come up and serve us ‘wine’. Don’t try to help him either.”

“Okay, and then?”

“A man will come by and read us the specials. I’m going to order for us. Do you have any allergies?”

“No.”

“Good.”

I never expected etiquette training to be so brusque. 

A man comes up in silence and pours us water, and then another with a bottle of that sparkly grape juice. 

I make a little gesture, asking to have some of my drink, and he gives a very small nod. 

I take a teeny, tiny sip. 

A man practically materializes at our table once I set the wineglass down. 

“Mr. Otoori! A pleasure to have you again. Who’s your companion?”

I give a terse smile and a tiny wave. 

“This is James Lysander, he’s a designer.”

I am?

Kyoya’s looking at me with expectant eyes. 

“Uh. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well. I’ll be your server for today. Are you two ready to order?”

WHY IS HE ASKING ME?

Kyoya cuts in to save me. 

“Please, what are your specials?”

The waiter rattles off something that I don’t even bother trying to understand, and he orders us something that I know was just mentioned, but don’t bother processing. 

What follows is the most ridiculously long and convoluted meal I’ve ever eaten. 

Kyoya coaches me on what I don’t remember, and we make it through a funny little shrimp cocktail I hardly touch, crabcakes and a thick red sauce, and a salad that’s just weird, spiky lettuce and vinaigrette. By the time they bring out the main course, I’m operating with a semblance of functionality. 

It’s finally a meal I’ve had before, at least a bit. Sort of. 

Thick, curly pasta with white sauce, topped with ridiculously thin-sliced potatoes, chicken, and chopped tomatoes. 

“Uh. Thank you, Kyoya.”

“What for?”

“You just bought me lunch? Albeit it is the most confusing lunch I’ve ever tried to eat.”

“Mm. You’re welcome, then. Now, after we’re done with the pasta, they're going to clear away most of the stuff on the table. They’ll leave the wineglasses, and that’s about it. Then I suppose you can show me the designs you’ve got.”

“And then we’re finally done with my etiquette training?”

“Not quite. Once they see we’re done talking, they’ll bring out a palette cleanser. After that, dessert. Then we’re done.”

“Mmm.”

We share a nod, and then I sink the dinner fork into my bowl.

Oh my fucking god. This is so good. Fuck it, I’m a capitalist now. I want to be rich, and eat this every day for the rest of my entire life. There are probably tiny hearts in my eyes. 

“What do you think?”

Was Kyoya watching me? 

I swallow, then look across at him. I drop my voice to a whisper. 

“This is fucking amazing.”

A smile cuts across his face, the first real one he’s had today. 

“I’m glad you like it.”

You know, you’d think the butterflies in my stomach would be squished under all that salad from earlier. 

Whatever. 

We finish eating in a pleasant quiet. Somehow, I don’t feel the need to fill silence with him. It’s nice. 

Double whatever. 

The waiter takes my plate when I’m only three-fourths done and it takes every single ounce of willpower in my body not to stop him. 

I wasn’t finished with that, you cuck.

But I keep my thoughts to myself. 

“So, then, James. The new designs? Did you think of anything?”

“Well, admittedly, it’s not the best. You said cherry blossoms, and I ran with it. I figured you could choose between two main designs, and we’d stick to other basic springtime decals on different flavors.”

I flip the book towards him. Since I was at home this time, I could add some colors. 

The first design I show him is three tiers up and base-coated white. Then, along the edge of each tier, skeletal chocolate-flavored branches of icing dotted in light pink flowers made of sugar. Down the side of the cake, I’ve even thought to scatter on fake petals. 

The other design is a bit rougher, but it has potential. A cherry tree made of modeling chocolate dropping sugar-petals on a pastel blue two tier. 

There’s a slight intake of breath. A pause. 

“James, this smaller one-“

“I know, it’s probably impossible or something. It’s only a concept.”

“No. This is gorgeous.”

“What?”

“We’ll be having this one at the party.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. It’s beautiful. It’ll be difficult to serve, though.”

“Well, we could always just make the tree into a cake-topper. I’d hate to waste a perfectly good cake.”

“Can I make a note of that?”

“Uh. Sure.”

He whips out a pen and carefully writes something down in my design book.

“There are a couple other designs, if you want to look at those?”

“Yeah. Hey, do you wanna go meet the catering staff?”

“What, like right now?”

“After this, yes.”

“Do you just- have them? On call?”

“No, today’s a prep day. So the heads of staff will be getting ready for the week.”

“Alright then, sure.”

The waiter comes back and places one plate with two spoons between us. There’s two curls of what looks like shaved ice, except one is gray and the others orange.

I wait till he’s gone, then turn to Kyoya. 

“What’s this?”

“If I’m remembering correctly, it’s a sorbet.”

He picks up a spoon and points at the gray one, then the orange. 

“Peppercorn and mango.”

“You rich people have weird ideas of palate cleansers. Couldn’t they just give us, like, peppermints?”

“Eh. It’s odd, but it’s part of the experience of fine dining. Creativity.”

“Ah, I see, so when I did it, my mother called it ‘making a mess’ and ‘a sorry excuse for spaghetti’- but when YOU all do it...”

He laughs. A genuine one. His hand even flies up to cover his mouth. 

I flush with pride. 

He’s blushing, too. Aren’t we a hopeless pair. 

I force my eyes down at the sorbet and smile into a bite of mango. 

We get through the sorbets without issue. Okay, one issue. The peppercorn is absolutely nasty and I almost sneeze a mouthful of it across the restaurant. Our spoons also keep clicking together, but I wouldn’t call that an issue. 

Once we’re done, they bring us out two slices of a weirdly dense, spongy red cake that tastes like artificial blueberries. Do people do cocaine in this kitchen? What even is this? 

After that, we sit and sip our sparkly grape juice as the waiter brings the check around. I don’t even bother making a reach for it- he hands it directly to Kyoya. I still feel bad about it though. It’s nothing to him, but this is the fanciest meal I’ve ever been served. 

Still, I swallow my pride, and soon we’re leaving. 

The lady in the pencil skirt, from earlier, literally puts my jacket back on me. What am I, five? Do rich people not put on their own fucking coats? 

She hands me back my umbrella, and the doorman lets us out. 

I pop my umbrella up, and Kyoya and I stand off to the side under it as he calls a car. 

Do I want to rely on Kyoya for a car? 

No. 

Did he grab me by the bicep to point out to me that it’s raining harder?

Yes. 

Did that help him make his case for the fact that we should call a car?

Also yes. I’m not proud of it, but, hey. Whatever. 

I realize after a moment that Kyoya’s not wearing a coat. It was probably fine earlier, but the wind’s picked up and the temperature’s dropped with the rain, and while he’s trying not to show it, he’s shivering a bit. 

“Hey. Hold this.”

I slap the umbrella into his hand, then step back a bit and shrug off my coat. 

“What are you-“

I shove my jacket at him. 

“What’re you giving me this for?”

I take the umbrella back. 

“You were shivering. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“I’m fine. Take your coat back.”

“No. Put it on.”

I haven’t worn this jacket in a year. The last time I can remember wearing it was December of last year, because I’d gotten a new hoodie for that Christmas. It even still smells like cigarettes and body spray.

“And what’ll we do if you catch a cold instead of me?”

I pull out a toothpick and try to ignore the fire of a blush that’s burning in my cheeks and across my nose. 

“Shut up and put it on, Kyoya.”

My jacket is too big for him in the shoulders. 

I never realized how skinny he was. He’s built like a rail. 

Anyway. 

He’s still shivering. And pressed into my shoulder under the guise of holding the umbrella. 

My face is hot. 

Is his?

I wouldn’t know. We’re making a point of looking in opposite directions. 

Kyoya Otoori is wearing my coat. My hand-me-down, beater jacket that smells like tobacco, and cinnamon gum, and cheap, sharp cologne. 

A car pulls up and stops in front of us, and when Kyoya steps forward, I open the door for him. 

He gets in, and I scoot in after him. He leans up and gives the driver instructions, then rolls up the partition. I didn’t even know cars actually had partitions. 

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Give me your coat. Open the door.”

“Yeah, and I did it anyway. Who cares?”

The silence between us stretches, stretches, slackens. 

We pull up in front of a warehouse-looking building, and I open the car door, get out, and offer Kyoya a hand. 

“Aren’t you gonna let the driver…?”

“Let the driver what?”

“Get the door?”

“I’ve got arms. Why would I make him do that?”

“Nevermind.”

He’s still wearing my coat. Not that I take issue with that.

“C’mon, rich boy. It’s raining.”

We head inside the warehouse, and it seems to be split into four sections. Kyoya leads me into the first, and a wave of heat and pop music slaps me. 

“Hey, Mr. Otoori! You brought a friend?”

“Hello, Kinoshita. This is our new designer, Lysander.”

Kinoshita is a short, plump woman in her thirties with bright pink dyed hair. 

I offer her my hand. 

“Hello, Miss Kinoshita. Pleased to meet you.”

“Oooh, Isao! He brought back a polite one!”

I look over at Kyoya, then back at Miss Kinoshita. This is an interesting pair. 

Ito Isao is skinny and ridiculously tall. He also looks like he’s my age. 

Kyoya pushes his glasses up. 

“Lysander, these two are the host club’s head baker and head decorator. Kinoshita, Ito, this is the man who made your designs last week. Since the club is having a party next weekend, I figured you wouldn’t mind seeing the designs in person before starting them.”

The next few minutes are incredibly confusing. Someone clears off a space for us to work on and Kyoya retreats to a corner while Kinoshita and Ito whirlwind around me. 

I show them in more detail what I think the cake could go with. They agree that a modeling chocolate tree is too ambitious to cut, and that we should order a cake topper. After that, we decide on a few more supporting designs- one cake wouldn't be enough for as many people as we’re expecting. 

It feels a little bit like getting slapped with sensory overload, the heat and the noise and the compliments, but Kinoshita is really nice and Ito keeps telling me that he adored my idea about the fruit extract and box mix. 

I almost hate leaving. On the other hand, they give me a paper bag full of different types of sugar flower shapes as a parting gift. So there’s worse that’s happened. 

Apparently, Kyoya’s chauffeur was just driving around downtown while he waited for us, so we only have to wait a few minutes for the car. He’s still wearing my jacket.

“Do you want one of these flower things?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

We stand there, under the umbrella, crunching on runibeccias and peonies until his car shows up. 

When it does, I reach forward and pull the door open for him. 

He scoots in, then turns back to me on the sidewalk. 

“Wait- you’re not getting in?”

_Did he think I was getting in?_

“No? I’m gonna walk home.”

“It’s raining.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

_Why does he care that it’s raining?_

“You can’t walk home in the rain.”

“I walked here in the rain, didn’t I?”

“What if you catch a cold?”

“Go home, Kyoya.”

He starts standing up again.

“You at least need to take your coat-“

I grab him by the collar. Okay, I’m starting to think I’m not good at subtlety. 

I let go of his collar and press the back of my hand to his forehead, then his cheek. He’s blushing, but his face is frigid. 

“You feel like you’re made of ice, Kyoya. Keep it.”

I turn on my heel and start off down the sidewalk to hide the fact that my face is probably red enough to light a fire. 

“But James-“

I don’t look back.

“I’ll see you Monday!”

“James-“

“Monday in homeroom!”

“But-“

“Bye-bye now!”

“JAMES-“

“Monday!”

I’m out of earshot by now. 


	13. in which there are some phone calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is down bad. down BAD. downright ill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m posting two chapters tonight, mainly because i have a lot of plot to go through and it makes me happy to upload
> 
> thank you to kaz for proofreading!
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys my work!
> 
> without further ado: the chapter!

Was giving Kyoya my coat the chivalrous thing to do?

Yes. 

Did I do it for the homoerotic tension?

A little. 

Is it stupidly fucking cold with this wind chill?

Yes. As in, this-wind-is-cutting-through-my-binder cold. 

Would I do it again for less?

Probably. 

Halfway home, my phone starts ringing. 

Any broker worth their shit would bet five-to-one it’s Kyoya. They would also lose. It’s Lexi.

“Hey, Aunty.”

“So is it a date?”

“It is not a date. It was a business meeting.”

“Whatever you say, shortstack. When are you getting home?”

“I’m walking back now. Another 45 minutes or so.”

“Alright. Riley and I are gonna go and get dinner before my shift.”

“OOOOOoooooOh, is it a date?”

“No.”

“See, that’s how you sound.”

“Shut up, that was definitely a date. This is just two gal pals hanging out.”

“Gal Pals, huh? Who are both sapphic? And single?” 

“Yes.”

“Liar, Liar, Liar!”

“Whatever. Anyway, you’re on your own for dinner, but there’s stuff around here you can make.”

“Sounds fine.”

“See you, then.”

“Bye!”

If Aunty and Riley aren’t dating in two months I’ll eat my fucking umbrella with a plastic spoon. 

Another fifteen minutes of walking, and my phone rings again.

Is it Kyoya?

Actually- yes!

“Hey, rich boy.”

“You should have taken your coat.”

“What, not even a hello? With how cold you’re acting, I’d need my coat back just to talk to you.”

“You should have taken it anyway. What if you get sick?”

“Then I’ll get over it. You were shivering, you needed it more. Why the fuss?”

Silence down the line.

“The girls in the club like you. If you get sick, we lose money.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s why you’re worried about me, Kyoya.”

“Why else would I be worried about you?”

“I’m not a significant enough gain for you on a monetary level for you to worry. There are plenty of boys with pretty faces who could stand in for me, and my designs are fine, but nothing you haven’t seen before. So that means I might not be your usual give-and-take bartering piece.”

“Your designs are fantastic and you save the club money.”

“Mhm. Because you definitely lack for design artists and money.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that calling to worry about me isn’t something you’d do if I was just a dollar sign.”

“Just a dollar sign?”

“Let’s say you think in money and assets and loss over gain: you lose nothing if I walk home by myself, or without my coat. But if you think in a way that’s more abstract, then…”

I pause a moment, collecting my words. 

“You’ve set up this sort of disposition, this front- that you’re cruel, calculating, untouchable. But I don’t think you are. I think you’re a caring person. And sometimes I wonder why you’re so scared to let other people realize you might be a nice guy.”

He doesn’t say anything, so I keep talking. 

“I think in concepts: fairness and retribution and decency, and I operate under the assumption that love is not and will never be a finite resource. I think you do too. But you refuse to ever acknowledge the part of you that does that.”

Long pause.

“That’s an interesting little notion, in its own way.”

“Hmm.”

I walk another few blocks before he speaks again. 

“Hey, that book you mentioned. With the latchkey kids. What’s it called? I want to read it.”

“I can lend it to you, if you want.”

“No, I’m just going to buy it.”

“Why the hell would you buy it if you haven’t even read it? You could at least see if the library at school has it.”

“That’s just what I do, I guess.”

“I’ll bring it with me Monday.”

“Fine, then.”

More silence. The rain is better to talk with, but I don’t mind it. I never feel like silence is wrong when it’s us. 

“Well, James, I suppose I should let you get back to whatever you’re doing.”

“You can if you want to. But I’m just walking home. It doesn’t matter.”

“Still?”

“Yeah. I’m still about twenty minutes off, anyway.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. It’s just. How I walk?”

“Why wouldn’t you let me call you a cab, then?”

“Because I didn’t want one, and I don’t need one.”

“It’s raining!”

“Has been all day.”

“Why won’t you just let me call you a car?”

“Don’t want, don’t need, don’t get, that’s what I always say. Besides, the rain is very nice company.”

“I’m staying on the line till you get home.”

_ Does he worry that much? _

“You can if you’d like, but I don’t understand why. It won’t be dark for another hour.” 

Silence. 

The scenery is changing around me a bit, slowly becoming more apartments than shops.

I almost forget he’s on the phone with me till I get into the neighborhood and call hello to one of the ladies who lives in our building. 

“Who was that?”

“Oh! Hey, Kyoya. That was a neighbor of ours.”

“So you’re near home?”

“You worry too much, you know that?”

“Are you or aren’t you?”

“I can see my block in the distance.”

“Good.”

I get to the awning over our door and decide it’s time to hang up. 

“Alright, I’m home.”

“Are you cold?”

“A bit.”

That’s a bold-face lie. I’m freezing and my toes are so cold they’re numb. Curse you, useless steel-toed boots. 

“You should drink some tea.”

“I might. It’s always nice to have something hot when it’s raining.”

I tap off my umbrella and plunk it into the canister by the door.

“I’m inside now.”

“Then I’ll let you go.”

I don’t want him to, but there’s no way in hell I’ll say that.

“Later, Kyoya.”

“Bye.”

I wake up Sunday with a splitting headache.

Okay, and a sore, scratchy throat. I’ve lost my voice. 

Damn it. 

Lexi’s up and making herself lunch by the time I stumble into the kitchen for something to eat. 

“Hey, little man, what the hell happened to you?”

I start trying to talk, wince, and just point to my throat.

“Lose your voice or something?”

Nod.

“Go put a coat on and go wait in the living room. I’ll make you something to eat, and then you need to go back to bed.”

She can’t be serious. I need my Sundays for training. Before I can even object, though, she starts up again.

“And I know you generally practice on Sunday, but if you go out you might get someone else sick. And your lungs are fragile, especially in this weather!”

Sky above. You get caught with your father’s pack of Newports one time and all of a sudden your family’s a walking “anti-tobacco” ad. That is part of why they let me go live with Lexi, though. No more cigs for me. 

“I’ll go shopping. There’s time before dinner.”

How late did I sleep? 

She shoves me out of the kitchen, but I manage to catch a glance at the clock. 

2:00?

Damn. I must actually be a bit ill. 

I plod back to my room for a hoodie and my phone. 

New text from an unsaved number, one from Haruhi, and one from Kyoya. 

Did someone fucking die?

No, it’s just Tamaki inviting me to some movie and Haruhi and Kyoya asking me if I’m alright because I didn’t respond. 

I wrap myself up in my patch jacket, pocket my phone, and drag myself to the table. 

I can smell something that I think is mac’n’cheese, and after a couple minutes I hear the kettle whistle. Tea, too? Maybe being sick has its perks. 

I painstakingly type out my responses to the three of them, and then Lexi comes out with my mac’n’cheese and a hand-cast clay mug filled with pinkish tea. 

One of the many benefits of a lesbian aunty is that you’re never more than two phonecalls away from a pottery wheel.

“Here you are. Now be careful with that, it’s hot.”

She notices the phone.

“Oh, did you have plans?”

Shake-shake. No. 

“Good. You need to rest. You can eat, and then you should go lie down. You can make yourself lunch for the week or whatever after you have a nap.”

I don’t bother answering, just tuck into my food. I’m really fucking tired. The tea helps, though, so when I point to it, Lexi says she’ll leave the box on the counter for me. 

After that, I collapse into bed and fall asleep. 


	14. in which there is a collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James isn’t what you’d call lovesick- it’s a bit more serious than that, and he’s having trouble shouldering through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my wifi went out, so im sorry this went up so long after the first double-upload tonight. 
> 
> anyway, thank you kaz for proofreading, thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys my work, and without further ado, the chapter!

When I wake up again, it’s dark outside. 

My head feels a lot better, but my voice is still gone. 

Mmph. I don’t hear Lexi around anywhere, so it’s probably past seven. Well. I can get ready for school by myself. 

I wander into the kitchen and start on my meal prep. This week, I’m having caesar salads and chicken sandwiches. Fancy. 

Now I need to get my uniform ready, so I make myself a cup of the tea Lexi left out and retreat to my room. I still have the sandwich bag of sugar-flowers from yesterday. I carefully drop a bluebottle-shaped one into my mug and leave it to dissolve on my desk while I get the ironing board down. 

Halfway through ironing my slacks, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I pick my mug up and take a sip of tea as I grab for my cell. 

Kyoya again. 

From: kyoya.o @ 8:12 PM

“ you should have listened to me and taken your jacket back. now youre sick. ”

Did he only see my response now, or did he just feel like texting me?

From: James.L @ 8:15 PM

“ yeah and what if i had taken it and youd gotten sick? it felt like you were freezing to death ”

I go back to ironing and wait for my phone to buzz again. 

From: kyoya.o @ 8:18 PM

“ i would have been fine without it “

This hardhead’s about to be the death of me. 

Actually- 

I know HOW to shut him up, but do I actually dare to say it?

Well, he did teach me to waltz. And took me on a maybe-date. And he keeps making sure I get home safe. 

You know what? Why not.

From: James.L @ 8:24 PM

“ ill be OK in a day or 2. besides, you looked cute in it ”

I am rewarded for my ballsiness by ten minutes of uninterrupted housework. I’m hanging my outfits up by the time my phone pings again. 

From: kyoya.o @ 8:36 PM

“ ill give it back to you tomorrow ”

Surely it didn’t take him ten minutes to type that? Even on his weirdass flip phone.

If he was right by his phone last time I texted him- then he definitely saw it straight away. So I was right about being able to shut him up. 

Honestly, if we’re going this far, might as well push it, right?

From: James.L @ 8:38 PM

“ you can keep it if you want to. my school clothes are warmer and it’s still raining, youll need it. ”

It’s definitely less than saying he looked cute, but it carries an implication: I want to see him wear it again.

Which, to be fair, I do. 

I actually only manage to get my schoolbag packed before my phone starts going again. 

From: kyoya.o @ 8:43 PM

“ if it keeps up like this youll need it more than me. I have a driver ”

I should probably stop hitting on him, even as fun as it is. 

From: James.L @ 8:44 PM

“ i guess ”

We stop texting after that, but I have a bout of sneezing. And, while Lexi may not be the most reliable source, whenever I start sneezing, she always makes a point to tell me that means someone is thinking about me. 

It’s probably just from the cold. 

Probably.

Monday morning comes, and between the rain and my head hurting again, I barely manage to drag myself out from under the covers. 

I stumble into the kitchen for breakfast and more tea, and according to the radio, it’ll be raining all day again today. Low-pressure cold fronts or something. Better dress warm, then. 

I stand in front of my clothes rack scratching my head for a good few minutes. I only have one blazer, so I can’t wear that, because it has to stay clean. I have a series of pullovers I could probably wear, but…

WAIT-

Lexi’s only ever boyfriend- who also turned out gay- gave her a letterman jacket while they were in college. He was pretty spindly for an athlete, so it’ll probably fit me. Might as well try it on and hope for the best rather than get into trouble with my patch jacket or freeze again. 

It’s still hanging in the hall closet- green, black, and gold. Not bad looking, and not a bad fit either. And I’m going to be late if I don’t leave soon, so I don’t have much of a choice. 

I have to walk today- I’d fall trying to skate in this weather. 

I pop up my umbrella and lock the door behind myself. 

I spent so much time trying to find a coat this morning that I’m forced to walk in with the beginning rush of students. 

I am still earlier than most, though, so I look out over the courtyard a moment as I sit down.

There- in the middle of the crowd. One red umbrella, and two boys under it. Blond hair, black hair, and surrounded by girls. I think I can wager a guess at who that could be. 

Wait a minute, though. They’ve stopped near the entrance to the main building- and the black haired one is taking a coat off. A black jacket, to reveal Ouran’s light bluish-purple uniform blazer under it. He folds it over one arm, and then the two boys head inside. 

So IF that is Kyoya and Tamaki, and Kyoya’s bringing me my coat back this morning…

And he just took a black jacket off…

I’m getting ahead of myself. 

I’ll be able to tell when he brings it in, anyway. If he has it over that arm, then it’s safe to say he was wearing it. 

But until I have proof, I’m not getting my hopes up. 

I pull out a book and pretend to be reading it until I hear the commotion Tamaki always gets. I wish people shouted my name when I walked into a room. 

Okay, maybe I don’t want that. Still, though, it would make life more interesting. 

I keep pretending like I’m reading until Tamaki is headed my way, with Kyoya in tow. 

“Good morning, James! Your jacket looks great! Kyoya got a new one too, look-“

He grabs Kyoya by the arm and pulls him around to stand between us. 

That- that’s my jacket. He was wearing my jacket. 

I can’t afford to blush right now. I’ll give it all away.

My voice isn’t back, either, so I just smile and wave. 

“Hey, why aren’t you talking? Did you get cursed?”

Kyoya cuts in to save me. 

“He lost his voice over the weekend. That’s why he couldn’t come over and see the movie yesterday.”

“Ooooooh, I see- hey! how do you know that?”

“It will affect his ability to serve clients. Therefore, it’s club business. That’s why I know. And here’s your jacket back.”

He shoves it out towards me, and I push it back towards him and flip open my notebook. 

“What jacket- ohhhh, he’s writing something, Kyoya, look!”

There’s a girl slowly approaching us. We make eye contact over Tamaki’s shoulder, and I shoot her a look fit to kill. I keep writing, and she backs off. 

_‘Keep the jacket, I found a new one.’_

“But-“

_‘Nope, it’s yours now.’_

“Hey, did you guys hang out without me? This is a mutiny! You’re such traitors!”

Kyoya halfheartedly punches him. 

“Tamaki, calm down. James and I just ran his new cake designs- the ones for the party this friday- up to the catering kitchen and grabbed lunch.”

The clock strikes 8, and Kyoya drags a protesting Tamaki back towards their desks. 

Not only did he wear my jacket to school, but- he kept it. 

So this is how boys in movies feel. 

The rest of the day passes without major events- except maybe that the whole club eats lunch together in one of the first-year classrooms and one of the student library assistants waves at me when I come in to return a book. 

Kyoya, ever two steps ahead of the game, apparently ordered laminated menus so that I wouldn’t have to talk, and as we set up the club room, I add the stack of them to my cart. 

The girls find it easier to project fantasies onto me when I’m not talking, I guess, because I am a smash-hit. They keep offering to buy me tea. 

Honey actually pours me a cup, though, so during the break between clients I take an ibuprofen and a decongestant, then swig them back with the daintiest teacup I think I’ve ever held. 

It feels incredibly inappropriate to chug from a teacup that probably cost more than a house, but my headache is back again, and my chest hurts. So I really don’t care. 

Everyone politely ignores me funneling down cups of lukewarm tea in the corner of the club room. Haruhi even offers to get the trays set up, so I relax into the couch I’m sitting on and nod off in a matter of seconds. 

I wake up only a few minutes later, but it’s Kyoya waking me up, so I try to act like I’m not on the verge of death. 

“Hey, flirt.”

“Wha? Huh?”

“I’m calling you a flirt. Now wake up. Our guests are outside.”

“Mmph. Alright.”

I stand, yes, but I’m wobbling. I nearly fall into the coffee table in front of me-

An arm shoots out and grabs me. 

That must be-

“Kyoya?”

The room is tilty. 

I flop over into him a little. 

“James. James! Are you alright? Hey!”

He’s holding me up. I have the- albeit fading- consciousness to realize that he’s holding me up.

And then it all keeps fading. Into nothingness. 

I wake up to Haruhi standing over me. I’m in the prep room. I’m laying on something soft. My head- my head is in someone's lap. 

Haruhi’s voice is very quiet above me. 

“Geez, James, you scared us all half to death. Are you alright? What happened?”

Ow. My chest is killing me- OH NO, OH FUCK, BINDER, BINDER, MY RIBS. 

My voice creaks through my next words. 

“Haruhi- bag. Please.” 

“Alright, I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

He walks off, and I immediately sit up. The blood rushes to my head, and whoever’s lap I was just laying in tries to pull me back down. I shake them off. 

Someone laid my letterman over me. 

I push that off, then start untying my apron and pull that off too. 

There are other people here too. More than just Haruhi and the person I was laying on- I can hear them talking, but they sound far away. 

I pull my sweater off as I get to wobbly feet and start tearing at the buttons on my shirt. 

Whoever the fuck I was just laying on places a hand on my shoulder. I pull away from it and stagger towards the changing rooms. I’m in just my binder by now, and then I fall through the curtains and to my knees. 

Someone’s calling for Haruhi from outside my changing room. He bursts in a second later and kneels down next to me with my bag. Shaky fingers undo the clasps, and I pull out a minimizer. Haruhi leaves again, and I can hear the people outside shouting, and him shouting back. Is he standing guard or something?

I don’t know.

I pull my binder off, knocking my glasses away in the process. I manage to get the minizer on, and then, shaking and hot from fever, my eyes shut, the sound mutes, and I lay down on the floor. 

I’ll just lay here a minute. And then I’ll get my things together and go home. Yeah. 

Everything goes dark. 


	15. in which there is no doctor bill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James wakes up in a mysterious bedroom, and it’s anyone’s guess if it’s aliens or just plain kidnapping.
> 
> Unless, of course, it has more to do with the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to kaz for proofreading, thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys my work,
> 
> and without further ado: the chapter!

When I wake up again, I don’t know where I am. 

It’s very clean. And modern. It’s not the school clinic, I don’t think. 

I’m also not wearing the clothes I went to school in. The last thing I can remember is returning a book to the library. 

I’m also sweating like a whore in the confessional. 

Where am I, and what the fuck happened to me? 

Did I get kidnapped by aliens?

Or kidnapped, period? 

I didn’t think kidnappers would give you such nice beds. 

Well, I want answers, and I want them now, so I’m going to find them. 

Actually, okay, I was going to find some answers, but I just sat up and my vision went white a minute. 

Alright, I’m a bit better now. Where are my glasses? My head feels like someone hit it with an axe. 

This bed is ginormous, and I have to feel over every inch of it while I look. Okay, so my glasses aren’t next to me. Is there a nightstand? There is!

Why do I get the feeling people are watching me?

Maybe it really was aliens who brought me here. Maybe I’m a science experiment now. 

My glasses are on the nightstand!

James-1 : Aliens-0

The frame is busted. Damn. 

Well, they were already tilted. Now they’re just slightly more tilted. 

“That was quite some collapse you had.”

My mouth opens to yell, but no sound comes out. 

Oh yeah. My voice went away. Why did my voice go away? Did I get sick? I must have.

That’s a familiar voice, though. That’s a very familiar voice. 

Where have I heard-

“You’re in one of my guest rooms, if that's what you want to know.”

Kyoya? 

He’s leaning in the doorway.

“You worried us all quite a bit, with this. You really should’ve let me call you a cab the other day.”

Kyoya Otoori is now standing at my bedside in basketball shorts and a flannel. 

I try to ask him what’s happening, but my voice gives out on me again, and I only manage a broken squeak. 

He shoves a pen and paper at me. 

“Here. I’m sure you have questions.”

_‘Can I leave now that I’m awake?’_

“You’re running a fever of 40.9 degrees. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say no.”

_‘Where am I?’_

“You’re in one of the guest rooms at my house. We had to do some semi-illegal things to get it, but we found your aunts’ work phone number and called her. Since she couldn’t leave work, or get you home by herself, we brought you here. For future reference, please do not put people who live in the United States down as your emergency contacts.”

_‘Sorry. What time is it?’_

“About 10 PM”

‘ _I have to go home and do my homework. May I have a car?’_

“James. What part of ‘YOU HAVE A FEVER OF 40.9 DEGREES’ do you not understand?”

I don’t remember the conversions from Celsius to Fahrenheit. I’m not telling him that, though. 

_‘The part where I have to stay here and not go to school?’_

He laughs. I’m not joking, but it’s a pretty laugh. So I don’t mind. 

“Maybe it’s different in the states, but here at Ouran, we generally don’t send our pupils to school when they’re halfway dead.”

_‘I can’t afford whatever hospital bill I’m about to get. I need to go home!’_

He flicks me on the forehead, and I flinch. Ow.

“James, how many times do I have to tell you? You’re at my house. We called the family doctor for you.”

_‘I can’t afford whatever bill he has either.’_

“There. Is. No. Bill. Dammit. Now, if you’re not needing to go back to sleep, the rest of the club has decided to stay here until you woke up, and I’m certain they’d like to see you.”

_‘They stayed?’_

“Yes. Can they come in or do I need to send them home?”

_‘Can I have my jacket before they come in?’_

“That’ll be fine. What’re you-“

_‘My jacket, not yours.’_

“As far as I’m concerned, they’re both yours. But I’ll go get your letterman.”

He leaves, and I lean back on a pile of pillows. Everything feels fuzzy, and it hurts to think, but I do it anyway. 

I can’t tell if Lexi’s boss is being a bitch or if she’s actually trying to wingman a boy who can’t get out of bed. If she is trying to wingman me, this is certainly a weird way to go about it. On the other hand, since Lexi might only be able to tip the scale to 50 kilos soaking wet, trying to drag an unconscious ball of muscle and boots up two flights of stairs in this weather might actually be enough motivation to leave me at a strangers house overnight. 

Kyoya returns a minute later, and I can kinda hear him talking to someone outside. 

Must be the boys. 

Kyoya comes in and wraps my jacket around me. 

“t’nk yo-“

“Shut up and don’t waste your voice.”

Meanie. 

Haruhi is the only person to come into the room properly. Everyone else just peers around the door a bit. 

“Guys, don’t be weird around James. We waited all this time, and you’re gonna stand there and be awkward?”

I give them a half-hearted wave, and Honey jumps from around the door and flings himself at me. Mori snatches him out of the air, then gently sets him down on the end of my bed.

“Jaimie! Are you okay?”

Nod. 

“Really?”

_‘No, but I’ll get better.’_

“That’s good. I don’t want you to miss the party Friday.”

_‘I won’t, don’t worry.’_

Kaoru and Hikaru cut in next, one at a time. 

“Well, then, we have a question-“

“How come you didn’t tell us you were trans?”

_‘Who taught you lot about trans people?’_

Tamaki answers instead.

“Our therapists! We all went over the weekend, and mine told me that if someone wants to be a boy or a girl, or they like being a boy or a girl, they can become one!”

_‘So the counseling was a good idea.’_

Haruhi smiles. 

“For sure! They totally laid off me when you showed up. Although that might have been from when you gave Tamaki a nosebleed.”

My eyes feel sandy, but I manage a nod. 

_‘Tired’_

Kyoya leans over me to read the paper. 

“Guys, James is tired, and the more rest he gets, the sooner he’ll get better and come back to the club. So let’s leave him alone.”

I manage a wave, and as everyone else shuffles out, I curl up on the bed and fall asleep. 

I fade in and out of dreams and darkness for an indefinite amount of time. I’m hot, and then I’m cold, and then I’m hot again. At some point, someone plants a kiss on my forehead. That must be Lexi. Did she come by? Did she leave me here? My head hurts. Someone sits me up and forces a sip of something down my throat. 

When I properly, actually, wake up, the sun is rising. So the rain stopped? 

It’s early. The lights are off. There’s a floor-to-ceiling window, though, so I can just make out a figure asleep in the armchair, shrouded in the reddish early-morning light. 

That must be Lexi. She spent the night here?

I fall back onto the pillows. My mouth is dry, but I don’t know where I could get a drink around here. There’s a bottle of water open on the nightstand. I hope this isn’t poisoned or someone else's, because I drink half of it in one swallow. 

The sun keeps coming up. Lexi must have had her hair in cornrows for work yesterday. I don’t see the silhouette of her normal afro. 

Wait.

She wouldn’t be wearing a protective style for work. She always put so much effort into her hair each morning. And her boss allowed natural styles, so why would she have her hair braided?

And she always did her braids flat to her head, so why does it look like she’s got bangs?

One more ray of sunlight filters in through the window, and I get a good look at “Lexi.”

And it’s not Lexi- it’s Kyoya. 

Wait a fucking minute, WHAT?

Why is he here? Lexi would’ve made sense, or a doctor, or something. But why is he here?

I have questions, yes, but on the other hand, I think he just started waking up. I’m no coward, but I’m also not brave enough to ask him what the fuck is going on. 

So I fall back onto my pillows and keep a sneaky eye on him. 

I was right in thinking not to ask, because he stands up, grimacing, checks that I’m “asleep” and leaves.

He comes back maybe a half hour later in his school uniform and with a girl in a black dress who has a tray full of breakfast stuff. He gives me my pen and paper. 

_‘Can I go home now?’_

“Your fever only broke at 4:30 this morning. No.”

_‘Please?’_

“No way. Most of my family is away on business, and your aunt had to go back to her job for a morning shift. So I am going to leave you here, and I’ll come back at the end of the day with your schoolwork. The club will go on without us.”

_‘I’ll be here by myself?’_

“Yes.”

_‘But I can go home tomorrow?’_

“You can go home when you’re recovered.”

_‘So, tomorrow?’_

“If you’re better by tomorrow, then yes.”

_‘Do you want the book?’_

“What book?”

_‘The one with the latchkey children.’_

“Fine.”

That was a trick, and he fell for it.

_‘It’s in my bag.’_

He turns to the lady with the breakfast tray. 

“Please leave that with Mr. Lysander here. Then you’re free to go.”

She nestles it down in front of me. 

Tea, dry toast, and ginger ale.

Yum. 

Still, though, I’m hungry enough to eat a horse, and this’ll probably be good for me. 

She finishes getting it set up, and I turn the pad of paper towards her.

_‘Thank you!’_

She looks over her shoulder to check that Kyoya’s left to get my bag, then turns back to me. 

“You shouldn’t thank me. Don’t tell him I said so, but Mr. Otoori stayed up most of last night with you. You were very sick. Your guardian- the woman with the hair? She came in for an hour or two, but he made her leave again. He wouldn’t even let the doctor help him. I’ve never seen him do that before.”

Kyoya Otoori stayed up until my fever broke.

Kyoya Otoori took me home, called a doctor, and then took care of me for what- six hours? 

_‘Why?’_

She checks that Kyoya’s not back before answering. 

“He seemed very worried about you. You two must be quite close. Mr. Otoori only fell asleep maybe an hour before the dawn.”

So he didn’t sleep until my fever broke?

She cuts into my thoughts by wrapping my letterman around me. 

“Don’t act so shocked about it. He’s coming back now. Look sharp.”

I don’t know what to say, so I tap what I’ve written again.

_‘Thank you!’_

“You’re quite welcome, sir.”

She straightens back up and leaves. 

Kyoya Otoori took care of me. All night. By himself. 

Why the fuck did he do that?

He interrupts my thinking by coming in. 

“Hey. James.”

I can't talk, so I just nod. 

“Here.”

It’s my bag. So the trick DID work. At least I’ve got some of my schoolwork now. 

I click the straps open and hand him the book. 

“Thank you. I’m going to head out now.”

Wait. No. I have something to say to him. 

I grab him by the sleeve, and he turns back towards me. 

_‘Thank you for taking care of me. Don’t feel guilty.’_

“Guilty about what?”

He’s such a toad. 

_‘You said that if I had taken a cab this wouldn’t have happened. Which isn’t necessarily true, and either way, it was my choice to have you keep my coat.’_

He blanches. 

“And I’m right. If you had just let me give you the coat back, you wouldn’t be sick!”

_‘Then don’t blame yourself for my decisions. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. You looked very nice.”_

“You’re delusional with fever. I am going to school.”

Maybe I was too pushy about it, or maybe my headache is twisting my words up. I could see it on his face though. He felt guilty about something. And I can’t think of anything for him to feel guilty about other than that. Plus, he took care of me till the small hours of the morning. Why would he do that if he didn’t feel guilty? 

I don’t think he’d insist on taking care of me by himself just because. 

I spend the rest of the morning eating dry toast and doing my homework. At some point, I doze off again, but then the same lady from earlier comes in with a tray full of cheese sandwiches and apple slices. 

She actually sits with me while I eat and I get a bit of rich-people gossip. The eldest Otoori brothers are returning from a business trip tonight, Kyoya’s sister’s husband hired a new butler, the Suoh family bought out a hotel in Brazil. Kyoya’s started drinking red-eye coffees: hot black coffee and a shot of espresso. I had one once. It was bitter. 

I don’t care much- it’s boring talk, really, but she’s nice company, so I nod and smile and stuff my face with cheese sandwiches. She also brings me a couple of fever-reduction pills and more tea. 

My throat feels better by now too, although she tuts a bit when I try to speak and makes me use the notebook. 

_‘What’s your name?’_

“Everyone just calls me ‘the maid’ around here.”

Huh? Rich people must be ruder than I thought. 

I tap the paper.

“Well, if you really want to know, it’s Abe. Abe Amaterasu.”

Her name- her first one, anyway- means Sun Goddess. 

_‘That’s a pretty name. Why do they call you the maid?’_

“That’s just how things are.”

_‘Well, I think that’s stupid. You’ve got a name. I’m going to use it, if that’s alright with you.’_

She hesitates a moment. 

“You must be poor like the rest of us are. I would like that very much.”

‘ _Then thank you for the lunch and your company, Miss Abe.”_

She picks up the lunch tray and leaves me a glass of ginger ale on the nightstand. 

“You’re quite welcome, sir.”

I spend the rest of the afternoon reading ahead in my science and history books and doing my Japanese practice. I don’t want to end up spending the night here again, no matter how nice the staff is. If I miss sparring practice tomorrow with Akito, I’ll just about die. 


	16. in which there is a long hallway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is being forced to stay another night in the Otoori household. Not that he’s particularly complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you kaz for proofreading and support!
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys my work, you have my eternal appreciation.
> 
> without further ado: the chapter!

I’m exhausted, yes, but I don’t think I can stay here tonight if Kyoya’s older brothers will be home. I poke around the room a bit, and what I thought was a closet is actually an ensuite. Fucking rich people. 

Apparently, when Lexi came by, she left me a bag of clothes. I’m not sure how I got into the pajamas I’m wearing- they’re definitely not mine. Dark grey sweatpants and a baggy white T-shirt. Who’s even are these? 

I head into the ensuite and wipe myself off with a wet rag- breaking my fever means I’ve sweat a bucket- then get dressed again. Lexi knows me well: she brought me an actual outfit, not just baggy whatever-the-fucks. 

Old black jeans that were a hand-me-down from one of my brothers, my swim binder instead of another minimizer, boxers, and a dark blue T-shirt with golden stars. Oooh, and socks. My feet were fucking freezing earlier. 

Lexi is a good guardian fashionista indeed. My watch and my real binder were in my schoolbag. I stick to the swim binder for now, but the watch will be useful. 

Speaking of all this, I ought to check my phone. She’s probably worried sick. 

My phone was in my slacks pocket yesterday. So that begs the question- where are my school clothes? What happened to it? Who put me in those pajamas anyway?

Well, I have two options. I can go sit back down in bed and wait for someone to come by, or- 

Okay. I mean. Easy decision. 

My watch says it’s 3:06. School gets out in under thirty minutes, and then Kyoya and probably half the host club will be on their way. Okay. That gives me fifteen minutes to find my phone and fifteen to get back. 

I wander out into the corridor. 

Sky above, did I wake up in wonderland? 

The ceilings in here are impossibly tall and set with skylights. It feels like the Minotaur’s Labyrinth. 

Well, if I don’t have my “uniform”, and that’s the last place my phone was, the first step is to look for that. Does this place have a laundry room? 

If they do, I don’t have any easy way of finding it. 

I close my eyes and spin, slowly, in a circle.

I’m not talking, but I think, as distinctly as possible:

“When? What? Where? Who? I do choose YOU!”

When I open my eyes again, I’m facing down the right side of the hallway. Alright, since I don’t know where I’m going, I’ll treat it like a maze. I put one hand on the wall and slowly start off down the corridor. 

I finally reach the end of the hallway. It’s a dead end, I guess. The only thing in front of me is a pair of double-doors. 

Well, I don’t hear anything, even with my ear pressed to the door, so I open it. It’s a bedroom. A gigantic one, but just a bedroom. Okay, my clothes aren’t going to be in there. 

I turn around and head back up the hallway. I pass a few more doors, and they’re all bedrooms too, but smaller. 

I left my guest-room door open, so I could find it again. I pause there to take a break. 

Might as well go on. I keep walking. 

This hallway doesn’t end, just opens up into a sort of entertainment area. A wet bar, a fireplace, couches. 

There’s three hallways that lead out of this room. The one behind me, the one ahead of me, and one to my left. 

I’m only there a minute before there are voices down the one to my left. And be they people I know or people I don’t, I’m not sticking around to find out. 

Once I’m a safe way away from the voices, I turn back to look at them. A man I don’t know, and a butler. 

Better not get caught, then. 

Then, in the distance, there’s another voice. Not Kyoya. Not Lexi. Not Uncle. Not anyone from the club. But I’m certain I’ve heard it before.

Wait- 

_AKITO?_

I’m torn for a minute. If I stop and look back to check, they’ll see me. But, I’m curious. Risk? Reward?

I have to keep going. I don’t know what to do otherwise, and my voice is still mostly gone. 

This hallway is curved. Once you go far enough down it, you can’t see the end of it. The guest room I’m supposed to be in is past the bend. I pause for a minute, looking behind me, but I can only see a sliver of the main room. Nothing. Now that I’ve stopped, fatigue has started to hit me. You know, in a normal-people house, I’d have found my phone by now. 

I’ve got another minute of walking back I need to do, and since I can’t get past that main entertainment place, I oughta just head back to my room and wait. Lame. 

When I finally do drag myself back into bed, Miss Abe comes in not thirty seconds later holding my uniform. Yeah, of course. Now that I went on a whole-ass quest for it, someone’s brought it to me. 

“Miss Abe?”

“You should be saving your voice, sir.”

“I’m okay. I had a red cell phone in the pocket of my slacks. Do you know what happened to it?”

“Oh, it’s in the laundry room. I’ll bring you that and some tea!”

I make a move to stop her, but she’s already out the door. Well. I tried. 

I shouldn’t be tired from walking for fifteen minutes. I am, though. My legs feel heavy. I flop back onto the pillows. My CD player is here, at least. I pull my headphones on and press play. I’m somewhere between dream and reality when Miss Abe comes back. 

“I’ve brought you your phone. Now wake up, Mr. Otoori will be back soon.”

There’s, like, four Mr. Otoori’s, but the only one she can be talking about is Kyoya. 

She also brought me a cup of ginger tea with sugar. 

“Thank you, Miss Abe.”

“Save your voice!”

Lexi, surprisingly, isn’t worried- she deserted her shift yesterday, though, and now she has to cover another one for someone else. She also left me an incredibly long voicemail detailing the entire experience. 

Thanks, Aunty. 

Kyoya comes in a few minutes later in his house slippers and school clothes. 

I give him a wave that he doesn’t acknowledge. 

Damn, alright. 

He comes up next to me and lays the back of his hand on my forehead. 

“Your fever broke, but you’re still overhot.”

Now that’s a joke I can’t resist taking, even though my throat hurts and I sound creaky. 

“Ah, so you finally fell for me and my gorgeous looks?”

He pauses a moment, processes, and then nearly fails to bite back a laugh. 

“No. Now save your voice.”

“Can I-“

“No, you cannot go home, and save your voice!”

I snatch the paper up. 

_ ‘WHY NOT???????’ _

“You’re still running a fever. And I don’t trust you not to run off and go boxing or something.”

_ ‘I can handle it. Besides, I have a practice tomorrow that I can’t miss. Might as well get used to it right?’ _

“No way in hell you’re gonna go practice again.”

_ ‘I’ll find a way.’ _

“You absolutely will not, and that is final.”

_ ‘You’re not in charge of me. I’m going to practice tomorrow.” _

“Quit running yourself into the ground.”

_ ‘I am not.’  _

“Over-exerting yourself is how you got like this in the first place. You’re not going home. Not right now, anyway.”

‘ _ This feels illegal, Kyoya.’ _

I’m right, and he knows it, but he shakes his head a bit. 

“We can go study if you’re so determined to do something. You need to get caught up on what you missed today.”

If I’m not allowed to talk, I can at least be annoying. 

_ ‘Ooh, a study date.’ _

He flicks me on the forehead. 

“Sleep first and then dream.”

Maybe I’m delirious with fever again, but he smiles.

He smiled?

Kyoya stands watch in the doorway as I gather up my things. 

“Hey, whose clothes was I wearing yesterday?”

“Save your damned voice, James.”

“But-“

“Shut up.”

That bastard.

I drop all my stuff on the bed and snatch up the pad. 

In the biggest letters possible:

_ ‘Bitch.’ _

He laughs again. Okay, maybe I’ll live in spite of this egregious cruelty. 

We head off down the hall, towards that dead-end door. Wait. That can’t possibly be HIS bedroom.

It is. 

FUCKING rich people. 

He tosses open the door like it’s no big deal, and not a bedroom the size of a house. 

“Is this-“

He slaps a hand over my mouth.

“Shut up and save your voice!”

I could kiss him. I could kiss him and pretend it was a fever-delusion mistake. 

But I don’t, I just sulk. 

He drags me over to a circular coffee table, makes me sit down, and hangs my school outfit on a coat rack by the door with his blazer.

I put my head down on the table. 

“Don’t do that. Come on. Study time.”

He kneels down on the floor next to me. 

“But-“

“Nope, save your voice.”

I really could kiss him and shut him up. And it’s a very strong contender for my next move, but he slaps our Japanese textbook down onto the table. So I don’t. 

I spend the next two hours studying what we learned in our core classes today. It’s actually not so bad. 

A little after six, another maid, not Miss Abe, comes around to tell us that Kyoya’s brothers and father are back from their business trips. They’ve also requested Kyoya and his mother stay away from the dining room while they fill each other in on what happened. 

Wow, the family bonds here are great! 

Not.

Kyoya tells her to take the night off, and that he’ll manage by himself. She thanks him, gives me a scrutinizing eye that I just kind of wave at, and leaves. 

We spend another half hour working through the practice math problems- he does the evens, I do the odds. 

It only takes us fifteen minutes to get through the Japanese homework- it’s verb conjugation, and I pull out my workbook and match the answers up. 

He moves to pull out his notes for his foreign language class, so I stop him by snatching up his notebook. And I start writing. 

“Hey, gimme that back-“

_ ‘Why are you doing this for me?’  _

“What?”

_ ‘You told me this morning it wasn’t guilt. So then why is it you’re taking care of me?’ _

“I’m not.”

_ ‘You so fucking are. I know you took care of me all of last night. And you’re making me stay here so I don’t get hurt. And you’re teaching me the stuff I missed at class today. So why are you taking care of me?’ _

“We would lose money without you.”

_ ‘Whatever. Liar.’ _

“I’m not lying!”

I tap what I just wrote again and pull out my French notebook. 

“I am NOT lying! I’m not a liar!”

Tap. 

“Hey, quit it!”

Tap. 

“You’re rude. You know that?”

Tap. 

We do our foreign language assignments together. Well, okay, not together, but he’s sitting next to me and I’m thinking mostly about how pretty he looks when he’s concentrating.

“Take a picture, they last longer.”

“Maybe I will. You’d look even better on-“

He slaps a hand over my mouth again.

“Save your voice.”

Bitchboy. He takes all the fun out of flirting. 

“Hey. Do you want dinner?”

I open my mouth, and he cuts me off before I can start. 

“Save your voice.”

Nod. Nod.

“Let’s go. One of the cooks might have leftovers or something.”

Ooh. Rich people leftovers. I wonder if they’re better than regular leftovers. 

He leads me down the hallway, back towards that main room with the rich people decorations. Why is this house so big? I’m tired of walking. 

I can hear voices from the hallway to the left of us. And smell cigar smoke. Great. Now I’m weak-lunged AND illing for a fag. Although I’d settle for a boy fag instead of the smokeable one. I laugh a little at my own joke.

Kyoya turns to me and holds a finger up to his lips. 

He’s whispering, even though the voices are a ways off.

“You absolutely cannot talk. My father will hear us.”

He can’t even talk when his dad’s in a meeting with his brothers?

There’s an inconspicuous-looking sort of hallway thing at the back of the room. 

Kyoya takes my hand and we run towards it. His head is set on a swivel. 

I’m not sure why we’re running, but he’s holding my hand, so I don’t care. I have a feeling he’s looking around so much because his father’s home. 

Have I met his father?

No. 

Do I already dislike him?

Yes. 

Kyoya drops my hand to push open the set of double-doors, and we’re standing in a gigantic kitchen. There are several people in white chef uniforms who all stop to look at us. One of them actually bows before he starts talking. 

“Mr. Otoori, can we be of service?”

“Not if my father still needs you to be on call. I just want tea and something light.”

He turns to me. 

“Lysander, there’s a teapot over by that smaller stovetop. Please fill that with water and put it on to boil.”

I obey. This whole moment has been disarming. I wasn’t expecting any of this. And why did he call me by my last name? 

I set the tea up and then turn back towards Kyoya. He’s standing in front of a giant refrigerator, and he pulls out a container of salad. When I walk over to him, he hands it to me, then wordlessly points at a stack of bowls on the wall.

I pour us a couple of salads, and he sneaks around past me, over to one of the cooks, and whispers at him. They go back and forth like that for a bit, and then the chef starts doing something. 

The teakettle whistles, and I jog to go get it. By the time I’ve taken it off the heat, Kyoya’s pulled out a tray with handles and has started putting mugs and our salads onto it. 

I wrap my hand in a bar mop and pick the kettle up. The chef from earlier slides two covered plates onto the tray as well.

“Lysander. We’re going back to my room.”

Wait- I get it. He memorized his father’s schedule. We’re avoiding him. I’m not sure why, but I have some theories.

Well, as much as I want to go scrape his father’s dick off with the dull edge of my knife and feed it to a bird, Kyoya’s standing by the door, beckoning. 

Five minutes later- Sky above, this house is huge, Kyoya locks the door behind us in his room. 

Wait. Door locked. Bedroom. 

“Hey, why are you locking the door?”

“Shut up and don’t make it weird.”

“You’re the-“

“Save your voice.”

He takes the plate covers off our dinners- it’s two chicken sandwiches. 

Chicken sandwiches and salad? This looks familiar.

“When your aunt came by, she took your lunchbox home and mentioned you were going to eat the same thing every day this week. I didn’t know what else you liked, so we have this.” 

He thought of that? 

I look up from the tray. He looks nervous. Never thought I’d see HIM of all people get nervous. 

It’s cute. 

“Thank you, Kyoya. I appreciate it a lot.”


	17. in which there is some new idiocy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, people do not take their ADHD medication, and between that and the weird gay tension they’ve developed with a classmate, they will do stupid things. At least it’s interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda thinking of turning this into a series, like a fic per semester? idk we’ll see i just have like seventy more story arcs i want to write
> 
> anyway!
> 
> thank you to kaz for proofreading!
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys my work, it really keeps me motivated.
> 
> without further ado: the chapter!

The rest of dinner is easy. I was right- rich people leftovers are better than normal leftovers. 

Kyoya picks up the dinner tray and takes nearly everything outside. He just leaves it on the floor there. 

What is this, a hotel?

The only thing he left behind was the teapot and our mugs.

I turn towards the door.

“Hey, Kyo-“

“Save your voice already!”

Spoilsport. 

I start pouring us tea, and he brings me over a notebook and pen. 

“What was it you were saying?”

Well, it’s not what I was going to ask him, but I’m bored, so-

_ ‘Have you ever played M. A. S. H. ?’ _

“What the hell is that?”

_ ‘Seriously?’ _

I spend the next hour teaching him every pencil-paper game I know, and he beats me at all of them once he figures out how to play. 

I’d be more upset about losing if he wasn’t sitting next to me and laughing every time he wins something. 

I slump back against the couch. We’re sitting on the floor, with the table in front of us, and the couch is at this perfect height to be a headrest. 

Positively idyllic. 

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

I straighten up and scratch out my answer in the notebook.

_ ‘Tired’ _

“I’ll walk you back to your room. We have school tomorrow, you should sleep.”

_ ‘No’ _

“What?”

_ ‘Can’t I just sleep on the floor here?’ _

“Why would you want to?”

_ ‘Why not? It’s easier than walking back. You could just give me a pillow and I could just go to sleep’ _

“You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

_ ‘Then can I sleep on the couch?’ _

“What?”

_ ‘Can’t I just sleep on the couch? _ ’

“I mean. I guess if you want to, you can.”

_ ‘Have you never had a sleepover before?’ _

“What on earth is a sleepover?”

_ ‘Oh, yeah- that’s an English phrase. Ok, so, it’s just like, when your friend spends the night at your house.’ _

“Tamaki spent the night a couple times in middle school, but he slept in the guest room.”

_ ‘You rich people are fucking weird, you know that?’ _

“That’s not weird!”

_ ‘Yeah, but it’s not a sleepover.’ _

“By the definition you just gave me, it is.”

I stand up, then flop over on the couch. It’s a very comfortable couch. I put my hands behind my head.

“Your bedroom has really high ceilings. Are all the rooms in this house so tall?”

“Save your voice, James.”

“No way, it’s practically back already. I could sing  _ Habanera _ by now.”

“How do you know Carmen?”

“What, by Bizet? I went to an art program before I came to Japan. I didn’t like the academics very much, but the music was fun.”

“So that’s what you meant by ‘model student’ the other day. I’d been wondering.”

“That and some other stuff. It really was fun, though, while it lasted. You know, the whole: L’amour est enfant de boheme...”

I sit up and continue, with the most melodramatic gestures I can give.

“Il n’a jamais, jamais de connu de lois,

Si tu ne m’aimes pas je t’aime,

Si je t’aime prend garde a toi…”

I trail off a bit, then look over at him. He’s still on the floor, staring up at me. 

“What, are you falling for me or something?”

“Sleep first and then dream, art boy.”

“Ah, am I in your dreams then?”

“Do you have a comeback for everything?”

“Yup.”

He stands up, but his cheeks are just the tiniest bit pink. 

“Let’s go to bed.”

“What, so you want me to sleep with you now?”

He picks up one of the pillows from the couch and hits me with it. 

“Save your voice.”

His bedroom is fucking enormous- it’s the size of two of my apartment on top of each other. It’s even got a staircase that goes up to the second floor, where his bed is. 

Fucking rich people. 

He brings me down this giant comforter- like the ones they have at hotels- and a pillow from his walk in closet. 

FUCKING rich people. 

I’m still in my jeans, but I don’t have pajamas, and I don’t want to wear his, so I just pull my letterman on and make a bed up on the couch. 

He comes out of his ensuite- fucking rich people and their ensuites- in pajama pants. Just pajama pants. 

I mean. Not complaining. 

“Someone’s gonna come around and wake us up tomorrow.”

“What, do you not have an alarm clock?”

“No. Why would I have an alarm clock?”

“You rich people are insane, you know that?”

“Whatever. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

I wake up to the door opening, and for a minute I forget where I am. 

Then the maid from last night steps into view, and it all comes rushing back. 

“Good morning.”

She looks very confused by me. Understandable. 

“You’re who Amaterasu was talking about, aren’t you?”

“Miss Abe? I mean. I guess so?”

“Yes, you definitely are. She didn’t mention the accent.”

I must really have an accent, then.

“Oh. Uh. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Lysander.”

“Mine is Sano. I’m just here to wake Mr. Otoori up- I’m his maid.”

They have individual maids? Fucking rich people. 

She walks past me and heads for the stairs. 

My watch says it’s 6:50. 

6:50??? 

Holy hell, I’m about to be massively late. 

I throw the comforter off me, snatch my school clothes up, and hurtle into the bathroom.

It’s lucky Lexi thought to bring me my toothbrush. 

Okay. Good. Ready for school. Now I just have to get out of wherever here is. By the time I hear Kyoya stirring around upstairs, I’ve repacked my bag and have one foot out the door. 

That last sleep did me good- I’m back and better than ever. My fingers don’t even hurt anymore. 

I’m in that main room before I realize my bag still has my clip-ons, but I need to find my boots. 

Okay. Two hallways. Forward, and left. 

Left was where the voices were coming from last night, and from the outside, this house looks circular, so if the porch is in the middle-

Voices from the hallway in front of me before I can reason through it. 

Okay, left it is, at top fucking speed!

Oh, thank sky, this was the right choice. I can see the atrium ahead of me, past a few sets of doors. 

I run by one of the open ones and I can smell breakfast. Really, really good breakfast. 

It’s almost enough to make me stop, but I get a glimpse inside and notice a middle-aged man who’s nursing a coffee and decide against it posthumously. 

Are my boots in the atrium?

They are!

Victory for the poor! Vittoria, Vittoria!

Come to think of it, the one thing Lexi forgot was my fucking ADHD medication. 

Dammit, Aunty, see what a monster you’ve created?

The voices are getting louder behind me, so I snatch up my boots and scoot out the door.

Click. One moment, two, three- safety!

I plunk down on the steps and start lacing my boots on. 

If I’m late, I will literally lose my mind. I cannot be late. They’ll kick me off the scholarship or something. 

Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!

I actually make it to school on time. Kyoya’s house must be closer to school than mine, because I even manage to stop in at a convenience store and buy myself a bag of chips and one of those gas-station box lunches they apparently sell internationally. 

Three cheers for rollerblades!

I start up the stairs to class, and-

Oh no. 

Tamaki and Kyoya are standing guard outside our homeroom. And I have a very bad feeling I’m in trouble. 

Okay, I’m a bit closer, and I am definitely, definitely, in trouble. 

Tamaki’s not even smiling at me. Am I about to die?

Well, at least the last thing I notice before my imminent demise is that Kyoya’s wearing my jacket- I can die a happy man. His arms are also crossed so tightly I think he’s trying to become a pretzel. Whoops. 

I stop in front of them. 

Kyoya speaks first. 

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Oh so I AM about to die. I should at least find out why I’m dying, right? I can’t think of what I did wrong.

“I went to school?”

“Without me?”

Oh. In retrospect-

“Yeah, I woke up when the maid came in, and it was nearly seven, and I didn’t wanna be late, so I left.”

“Without eating or telling anyone where you were going?”

“I should’ve left a note. I’m sorry.”

“No, you SHOULD have waited for me.”

“What? Why? I get leaving a note, but-“

“Did you honestly think I was going to make you get to school by yourself?”

“No, but I was about to be late-“

“You wouldn’t have been late if _we took a car_ , you absolute dumbass.”

Okay, I deserved that one.

“Sorry.”

Tamaki cuts in.

“He called me, worried sick about you, and I had to talk him off calling the cops! We thought you’d died!”

“I said I was sorry already! I’m sorry!”

“That was incredibly irresponsible! What if you’d collapsed again? Then what?”

“My fevers’ been broken since yesterday, before dawn! I’m FINE! Quit treating me like I’m a kid who can’t take care of myself, Tamaki!”

Kyoya holds a hand out to stop both of us. 

“Yes, you can take care of yourself. But other people are affected by what you do and they will worry about you. Use your head once in a while.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, James. But for the love of god, think next time.”

He unfolds his pretzel-arms and straightens up. 

“Come on, guys. Class is starting.”


	18. in which there is a different type of dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyoya might be insisting James is only a bump to his wallet, but he’s a little too protective of a man who is essentially a small bag of nickels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did so much fucking research on ballroom dancing for this arc you do not even KNOW!!!
> 
> ok anyway.
> 
> thank you to kaz for proofreading my docs, and this week, a very special thank you to @ashtheemeraldpotato for all your comments and support on the fic.
> 
> another round of thanks to anyone else who just reads and enjoys my work-
> 
> and without further ado: the chapter!

I find myself staring at the back of Kyoya’s head for all of Literature class. It’s not my fault that the book is boring and he’s pretty, is it? 

He almost catches me looking when we start passing our worksheets back. 

Oops. 

What day is today? If I got sick Sunday, and then Monday I fell, and Tuesday I was in bed, today is Wednesday? Yes, it has to be. That means I have boxing practice today, but I don’t have any of the things I need. Fuck. I’ll call Akito and tell him I’m gonna be late. Maybe we could push back to meeting at 6:45? That’d be enough time-

Ow- What just happened?

Oh. It was Kyoya flicking me in the head again. 

“You’re not going to boxing practice.”

“What? I am, I’m just going to be late.”

“No, you aren’t. You were running a fever literally yesterday. Not a chance.”

“How are you gonna stop me?”

“I call you a doctor, teach you what you missed in class, and bring you your homework, and this is the thanks I get? You’re not going. And it’s lunchtime, so let’s get moving.”

“Get moving to where?”

“The cafeteria, obviously.”

“I brought my own lunch.”

“Don’t care. Come on, Tamaki’s waiting.”

I pick up my lunch and stand up to follow him. 

“You’re the worst, you know that?”

I eat my lunch McSandwiched between the Hitachiin boys again, but they ask me less questions this time. I try to slip away after I’m done eating, like I normally do, to chew a couple sticks of gum and read, but they pull me back down into my seat. 

“You know, I get the feeling a certain someone put you up to keeping an eye on me.”

Hikaru stops poking at his dish of asparagus.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

“What’s it to me? Sky sakes, are you afraid I’ll get sick again or something?”

Kyoya looks up from his notebook and peers across the table at me. 

“Yes, that’s exactly what we’re afraid of.”

“I’m going to the library, Otoori.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“What is it then, a date?”

“Not a chance.”

He’s insufferable. I like it.

We cross the courtyard together, and once we get inside, that library aide from the other day waves at me again. I wave back, and Kyoya casts a scathing eye in his direction. 

_The fuck’s that about?_

“Kyoya, the fuck’s that about?”

“What was what about?”

Insufferable. 

“Nevermind.”

We spend the rest of the lunch hour looking through books. 

Okay, I spend the rest of our lunch hour looking through books. Kyoya just follows me around.

“Are you gonna look for anything, you toad?”

“Nope.”

“So why come with me?”

“I felt like it.”

“All this, and you won’t even say it’s a date? Cruelty.”

“You’ll survive.”

In-suff-er-ab-le.

My voice is back, and the club girls spend about twelve fucking hours talking about how frightened they were for me. Apparently the club cancelled their last session Monday to take me to a doctor. 

So they really were worried.

Once the first round of appointments ends, I cross over to Haruhi. The girls shuffling out gives me enough cover to ask him what I want to know.

“Hey. Haruhi.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“What’s the formula of conversion from Celsius to Fahrenheit?”

“Oh, uh…. you take the temperature in Celsius, and you times it by 9/5, and then…”

He trails off a moment.

“Well, I don’t remember the formula. But Kyoya told us your temperature was nearly 106 degrees Fahrenheit, if that’s what you’re asking about.”

106? 

I HAD A FEVER OF 106?

“WHAT?”

He jumps back.

“See, that’s probably why he was so worried about you. You fell over in the changing room, and you didn’t wake up for a full five hours. I kept pushing the twins and Kyoya away from the curtain for, like, three whole minutes, but you didn’t come out! And then Mori just picked me up and sent Honey and Kyoya in. You had that weird bra thing on by then, but nobody was expecting you to be trans except me, because you only told me!”

He pauses to breathe before continuing.

”So Honey went and picked your clothes up, Kyoya wrapped you in your sweater again, and made Mori carry you back to the couch. Tamaki seemed to be in more pain than you, the way he kept carrying on, so I sent him outside. Hikaru found your phone and Kaoru called your aunt, then Kyoya got us all a bunch of cars since she was at work and we went to his house. You were very weak. Tamaki insisted we all stay until you woke up, so the rest of us had calls to make, but Kyoya wouldn’t even let the maids take care of you. He didn’t even change out of his school clothes till it was nearly nine at night!”

He leans back up to me and whispers.

“And he doesn’t really strike me as the: take-care-of-it-yourself kind of guy, so I think somebody’s got a crush on you.”

You know what, I think God won’t even send me to hell for saying this one.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

I tell the next group of girls that I don’t want to strain my voice: “so I can enjoy you all more fully at the party Friday”, but really, I’m buying myself time to think. 

The few things that stick out to me- other than the obvious, of course- are the phrases: ‘...wrapped you up in your sweater again...’ and ‘...pushing the twins and Kyoya away’. 

I guess I figured the twins would worry- I’m in their little realm, and they’re always quite pushy. But those two statements combined means that my head was in Kyoya’s lap, and he’s the one who put my letterman over me.

Somehow, that means more to me than him making me stay at his house. 

Then, of course, there’s the obvious things Haruhi said that I need to think about. 

Namely, ‘...he didn’t even change out of his school clothes till nearly nine at night’.

So does that mean he spent all that time taking care of me? It must, right? I almost hope it doesn’t. 

Then, of course, there’s the double-obvious to think of. If Haruhi says he has a crush on me, Kyoya probably has a crush on me. Haruhi is a smart, analytical sort of man, so I think he’s a voice of reason here. 

Kyoya’s got an odd way of showing it, then. Either that or he’s a contrarian. I keep hitting on him, but he seems untouchable.

Maybe he thinks I’m a whore? It’s either that or Haruhi’s wrong. No, Haruhi’s probably right. He must just think I’m easy. 

Kaoru cuts into my thoughts.

“Hey, chef. You doing alright?”

“What?”

“You’ve been cleaning that fork for like three minutes.”

Did I just autopilot through an entire timeslot?

5:37.

Apparently I did.

“Yeah. I’m fine, just thinking about some stuff.”

I turn back to the room at large.

“Oi, Kyoya! Can I go to boxing practice now?”

He doesn’t even look up from his laptop.

“Not a chance.”

“And what if I atrophy?”

“You’re not going to atrophy because I make you take one week off.”

“I might! You never know.”

“You’ll be just fine.”

I scoop my workbook out of my bag and flop down on the couch next to him. 

“If I lose all my muscle mass, I’m blaming you.”

He flicks me in the forehead, and I pretend to faint.

“You won’t, calm down.”

Insufferable. 

I’m halfway through my worksheet when he leans over to check on me. 

“Hey, when you’re done with all that, do you want to practice dancing again?”

Never give a dramatic man the option to be dramatic. 

He will take it 100% of the time. 

I switch back to English and pretend to swoon.

“No, my good Sir Otoori, I fear I cannot. My constitution is too fragile for such frivolity! I may die!”

I’m rewarded for my theatrics with a smile and a good-natured eye roll.

“Don’t be a dumbass. Now do you want to practice or not?”

“Let me make a call first.”

Akito picks up on the third ring.

“Hey there, James! What’s up?”

“Nothing. Well, okay, a little something. I’m really sorry to cancel on you last minute, but I got crazy sick over the weekend, and I’ve spent the last two days in bed. I only thought to call now, but my-“

What is Kyoya to me? 

“-my, uh, aunt won’t let me come practice. I can’t go today.”

To be fair, Lexi is expecting me home at the normal time.

“I see. You weren’t there Sunday, either, so I figured something was off, but I didn’t want to disturb.”

“Oh! I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Call me when you’re better, and we’ll find out when we can practice again.”

We say goodbye, and I head back into the club room. The CD player is back out. 

They’re all sort of watching me, but only Kyoya talks. 

“You ready to start?”

I pull my letterman off and toss it down on the couch with my bag. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

If I wasn’t so busy being a hopeless, romantic, toad, I’d be better at dancing by now. But I know the basics, and I’m not stepping on Kyoya’s toes when I dance. He’s stretched up to his full height, but I’m still a little bit taller than him in my boots. 

Mental note: never take off these boots or he’ll be taller than me.

After a while, the music stops. I don’t want to let go of him. 

“Hey, you ever been taught how to dance tango?”

“No. Why?”

“Do you want to learn?”

He glances out the window at the clock tower.

“Sure. I’ve got time to kill.”

“Do you have any more music tracks on this thing?”

“A few, I think. Go look.”

Track 14 is Ballroom Tango. I only learned Argentine style, but it’s the same kind of music. 

I press play. 

“Ready, then?”

The other boys are watching us. You know what?

I don’t care.

If Tamaki truly believes beauty should be observed, he has every right to look at us. We look fucking great. 

I pull Kyoya up next to me. You dance the tango obscenely close together. My hand is on his back, about where his ribcage ends. Then I snatch his right hand up with my left and hold it out to the side of us.

“Put your hand on my shoulder and bend your knees.”

He obeys, but he’s blushing a little. 

“I only know Argentine style, which is more dramatic than ballroom. More exaggerated. They’re relatively similar, though. Now, the dance always turns slightly left. It’s circular.”

I stand up a little straighter. 

“I start on the left, you start on the right.”

I guide him through the first five-step. Feet together, left foot forward, right foot pass, left foot pass, right foot pass again, close the gap. 

“Now do it on beat. Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow.”

He’s a fast learner, because of course he is.

We make one clumsy circle, then another, and by the third time around, he’s perfectly in step. 

It’s insufferable that he’s good at this so fast, but I’ll manage. 

There’s a musical swell soon, and if he won’t let me go to boxing practice, I can be just as insufferable to him as he is to me.

“Ready?”

“Ready for what?”

I break routine as we finish the 5-step.

And then I dip him. 

A gasp. Shocked, heavy silence, where we both blush like mad. Then the club room breaks into applause. 

First Tamaki, then Hikaru, Kaoru, and Honey. Mori claps when Honey does, but Haruhi’s just watching us. 

I pick Kyoya back up.

“Alright there?”

“I’m fine.”

Kaoru cuts into our conversation. 

“Pay up, Hikaru! Told you he-“

Haruhi’s reached up to slap a hand over his mouth. 

“Whatever freakshow bets these two placed on you is something nobody needs to hear about, trust me.”

Do they run bets on my sex life or something? They already knew I was gay, and it’s obvious as stones that I’m into Kyoya, which leaves that as the only option. 

Perverts. 

“Your cars will be here soon. Let’s head off, yeah?”


	19. in which there is an accidental cockblocker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the party’s soon, and Lexi has found out about James “admirer” shall we say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double-update day! 
> 
> thank you to kaz for letting me annoy you with my hyperfixations. and for proofreading, even as i’m ten chapters deep in another fic lmao.
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys my work, for their support. 
> 
> and without further ado: the chapter!

There’s some scattered agreement, and then we all troop outside together. 

I’m walking a little ahead with Haruhi so I don’t have to think about the fact that I just danced the fucking tango with Kyoya fucking Otoori. 

Tamaki’s been giving Haruhi rides home as of late, which means they leave together, and Honey and Mori’s car is already there. The twins slip off together, and Kaoru’s laughing about something, counting a few bills. 

I sit down on the courtyard fountain and pull my skates out again. 

“Can I call you a car?”

“Not a chance.”

“Zip your coat up.”

“Alright, worrywart.”

“And call me when you get home.”

“Alright, worrywart.”

“And be careful when you’re skating.”

“Kyoya, I’m fine. Quit fussing.”

I stand up, but he’s straight in front of me.

“No, you aren’t. You’ve got your neck exposed, you’ll get sick again.”

He reaches up and closes the snap on my collar. 

“There. Now go home. It’s late.”

He seems to realize how close we’re standing and steps back a bit. 

“Alright. Bye, Kyoya.”

“Bye.”

Kyoya Otoori might act cold to everyone, but he worries about keeping me warm.

It’s dark outside. Nobody’s around to see me act the fool about this, so I indulge myself in a smile. 

Lexi’s standing in the kitchen, washing rice, when I come in. 

She actually drops the dish back in the sink to come over and hug me.

“Oi! Wipe that smile off your face, young man! You worried me sick with that fever, you know that? You have to be more careful, or else you’ll die or something! What on earth would I do if you died?”

“Riley would move in to help you with the grieving process and the pair of you would finally start going out together.”

She tuts at me.

“You’re impossible, you know that? Now go change out of your school clothes, we’ll talk before I leave for work.”

I sit down at the table with my science textbook while I wait for her. 

Lexi makes me two PB&J’s and a mug of tea, and I find out over dinner that she showed up while I was asleep that first time- that’s when she brought me my clothes, but she’d deserted her shift to come and see me, so she got into trouble. I’ve got half a mind to start talking about the exploitation of capital, but she says something very interesting. 

“...the leader sort of boy was that one named Otoori. I kept asking to stay, or if I could help, but he cranked the charm up on me and practically marched me out. Guess he didn’t realize I liked girls- hey, wait a minute, is he who you went out with over the weekend?”

Aw, hell. She’s onto me. 

I take a very long and preparatory sip of tea.

“Perhaps.”

She stands bolt upright and points down at me.

“I knew it was a date! I knew it! I knew it! I am impossible to lie to! Oh, he’s head over heels for you kiddo, he was taking care of you that whole time I was there! You got lucky, too, this one’s rich!”

“Lexi, calm down.”

“No way, dumbass! You should’ve seen him, he was positively evil to everyone else, but he was being sweet to you and you weren’t even awake to thank him!”

I can almost picture it: the other boys crowded in the doorway, watching, Lexi clutching her purse, standing at the foot of my bed, and Kyoya leaning over me.

“Lexi, you’re about to be late for work.”

“Listen, just because you’re right about me being late doesn’t mean you don’t have an-”

She fake-faints.

“admirer.”

“Go to work, Lexi.”

Once the door shuts behind her I reach for my phone. 

I’d have called the minute I got through the door, but then Lexi would never have shut up about it.

“It’s Otoori.”

“Don’t be like that, it’s me.”

“What took you so long?”

Honesty is the best policy, right?

“My aunt was home, and she’s convinced we might as well hop the broom in Vegas. If she knew I was calling you up, she’d phone my mother and the pair of them would never let me have a minute’s rest.”

“I don’t know what half those phrases mean, but I think I get the gist of it.”

“Good, then. Did you eat yet?”

“I’m about to. Did you?”

“Yeah.”

There’s nothing else for us to say, but I don’t want to hang up. We sit in quiet for a moment.

“Well, Mr. Lysander, I think I’ll let you go. We’ve both got homework.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Kyoya.”

“Goodnight, James.”

I spend the next four hours blowing my eardrums out with my vinyls and headphones. As a going-away present, one of my sisters bought me a connector cord: you plug one end into the jack on the multiplayer and the other end into your normal headphones. They’ve been useful in the apartment- I can listen to music at night without waking anyone up or sitting right next to my speakers. 

When I finally lay down, without my music, my brain won’t stop thinking. 

Thanks, brain. First you make me gay, then you give me feelings? Fucker. 

Well. He is a very good dancer. And he’s smart. And one hell of a looker. So, I guess there are worse boys. 

I roll over and go to sleep. 

Thursday is painfully normal. Okay, to be fair, anything short of maybe a gunshot to the chest would feel normal after the week I’ve had. And it isn’t normal forever- by afternoon, the club girls are waving at me in the halls and quite literally shrieking about the party tomorrow.

Are the girls at this school alright?

During the sessions, they manage to work it out of me that I already know how to dance, and then start demanding to know who taught me. 

I would genuinely fear for whichever girl I lied and said taught me, but if I tell them it was Kyoya, that might be worse…

Lying is a very useful skill to be good at, come to think of it. 

“Oh, miss, I learned it while I was abroad. Back home, one of my sisters wanted to learn to dance, and I was the only boy of a decent height for it. So I’ve known how to since I was very young.”

Yes, lying is definitely a useful skill to have.

They’re all excited by me, though. Being queer is also a useful skill to have, apparently. I am extremely level-headed around women. 

On the other hand, it means that when Kyoya Otoori takes his blazer off and asks to dance again, I am much less level-headed. 

We start off with a waltz, but I’m good at those by now, so we switch back to tango. 

I teach him the corte, the cross-step, and the open fan next, and gradually, as we practice, I can sort of feel the eyes of the other boys on us. 

Laughingly, I mimic the overbearing airs I’ve seen in old movies, expecting an eye roll.

“Shall we dance one more time, Mr. Otoori?”

So it’s a little bit surprising when he smiles a bit and agrees, taking my hand.

“We shall.”

I reset the CD player, and the song starts up. We’re both blushing less now- more focused on staying on beat instead of the actual closeness of our dancing.

Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it. 

Kyoya almost intuitively follows my leads. He’s way too good at this. Insufferable.

That same music swell is coming up that I remember from yesterday. 

Might as well, right? 

Five-step, fan, five-step, fan, and as we come back in from the fan, I twist and dip him.

No silence this time, just immediate cheers from the other boys. 

I’m thinking about kissing him. 

I, unfortunately, do not get the chance. 

“JAMIE! JAMIE! CAN YOU TEACH ME TO DO THAT? YOU LOOKED SO GOOD!”

Who expected Honey to be a cockblocker?

I stand Kyoya back up and turn around to where Honey’s running towards us.

“If you want, probably. You’re a bit short for it, though. You’d need a dancing partner closer to your height.”

He turns on his heel and runs over towards Haruhi.

These toads. 

“Wait! Honey! I can’t teach you right now, we need to go home-”

He’s already gone.

Kaoru’s leaning over the back of a couch, looking towards Kyoya and I. 

“You weren’t halfway bad. I might like to learn that sometime.”

Lightbulb pop!

“Kyoya, are we going to stay at school instead of going home and coming back for the party tomorrow?”

He pushes his glasses up and crosses his arms.

“That’s the plan, yes.”

I turn back towards Kaoru. 

“I can probably teach you the basic five-step then.”

“Ooh, that’ll be fun!”

Kyoya crosses back to the couch where our bags are.

“The cars will be here soon, guys. Let’s go.”

Kaoru crosses back away from us, and I nudge Kyoya. 

“Was that a tinge of jealousy I detected, Mr. Otoori?”

“You wish.”

Liar. Liar, Liar, Liar. 

Tamaki and Haruhi head off home, and I fist-bump the twins goodbye. Honey flings me into a hug, and then he and Mori leave too.

Kyoya and me, in the courtyard alone. Maybe Honey isn’t a cockblocker. 

I plop down on the edge of the fountain and start pulling my skates into place. Kyoya’s wearing my jacket, even though it was warm today. 

He’s quiet, standing over me with his hands in his pockets, watching me. 

He only steps back when I start standing up. 

“Call me when you get home.”

It makes me smile a little. 

“I will.”


	20. in which there are party preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party might be tonight in James’ world, but there’s a few more chapters before we get to the good stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two of a double-upload night-
> 
> and here we go!

When I get home, Lexi’s gone out to work, but she left a note on my bedroom door telling me to check the calendar and, in all caps, “DRINK SOME FUCKING TEA”.

Thanks, Aunty. 

I put the kettle on before I check the whiteboard. 

Uncle’s got a gig for me Saturday at 10.

Well, working with Uncle always means free lunch, so I’m in. That and I could use the workout.

Time to call Kyoya, then.

I set my phone on speaker and get started on making dinner. 

He picks up on the first ring, like he does every time. 

“Hey James.”

“So, about the party tomorrow. Is it formal? What do I wear? What the hell even happens at host club parties? How late is it going to run?”

“Uh. Yes, it’s formal. The club has a suit picked out for you, so don’t worry about that. It’s the same as any other dance party, just a bit richer. And it starts at six and runs until- until whenever, I guess. Till when Tamaki decides to call it quits.”

“Do I have to wear the suit you guys want me to?”

“Not necessarily. I know you dress up nice, so if you can bring along an outfit, that’ll do fine.”

“Oh, so I dress up nice, huh?”

“Shut up, James.”

“Not a chance. Anyway, can I take you out after the party tomorrow?”

I said it nonchalantly, like I’m not asking him on a date. Acting, folks. It gets you places. 

Long pause, where I can almost feel him blushing, and that makes me start blushing, like some chain reaction. 

“Why?”

THINK FAST THINK FAST THINK FUCKING FAST.

Nonchalance, nonchalance, I am the epitome of effortlessness and nonchalance, I can do this-

“Well, I still owe you for dinner the other day. So, since I can’t afford something that expensive, I’ll just have to settle on showing you a good time.”

“I guess that’d be alright.”

From Kyoya, that’s about as good as him saying we should elope and run off to Bali. 

“Any particular opinion on where we should go?”

“I’m okay with surprises.”

I am going to exploit that mistake of his. He’s going to go on a normal, poor-people date, and he is going to like it.

“You’re going to end up regretting giving me that much freedom with this, Kyoya.”

“I’ve been through worse, no matter what it is.”

“Whatever, rich boy.”

I am stupidly excited for this- to the extent that I leave a note out asking Lexi to leave me my weekend lunch money out early.

Will she undoubtedly harass me about it? 

Yes.

Is it worth it? 

Probably not. 

I’m gonna do it anyway.

I float through my homework without actually processing any of it.

Would Kyoya keel over if you took him to an arcade?

To a concert?

To a karaoke bar?

All viable options, I guess, but an arcade seems like the best choice. 

Do rich people play Atari? Nintendo?

They definitely do, right?

Maybe he doesn’t. I could beat him at Pac-Man, then. 

I’m halfway through getting ready for bed when I realize I have to get through that party first. So I need an outfit, a versatile one.

Jeans won’t go over well with rich people. So I need something really good…

Better get the ironing board.

I finally end up settling on a pair of black dockers and a black, short-sleeve button-down.

And if I’m gonna stay out so late, I need to wear my swim binder for school, and my normal one for the party. My sweaters are looser than my dress shirts, so I should be fine. 

I consider wearing one of my ties, but they’d all clash. I do want to be able to change my outfit to be a little less stuffy, though, so what-

Oh, I’ve had a terrible idea. 

Deep in my closet, still in my suitcase, I have a pair of square-toed, red leather boots. 

With four-inch heels. And black zippers. 

Now, on the one hand, I could be sensible, and wear my letterman tomorrow as an accent piece after the party.

On the other hand, it’ll be warm tomorrow night, and I will literally never pass up a chance to be dramatic.

I’d better pack my schoolbag in advance, then. I roll my dockers and shirt up and tuck them into the bottom of the bag- my front pocket has all my school supplies, but the back pocket is mostly empty. 

It takes me a good fifteen minutes to get everything into the bag right, but when I do, you can hardly tell I’m carrying all that I am. 

I’m jittery with nerves, and even though I try my best to relax, it takes me an hour to fall asleep. 

By the time I get to school on Friday, I’ve had two full cans of Monster Energy, and the caffeine has sort of negated how keyed up I am. 

Unfortunately, I funneled them both down in maybe three gulps on the way to school, and when I get to class, Tamaki notices, and I have to hide the cans.

The rest of the morning passes easily, but there’s chattering from most of the girls in the hallways. Apparently girls who don’t even regularly attend the host club are planning on buying tickets. 

I eat lunch in the clock tower, then sneak into the library. That aide from the other day waves at me again. He’s shorter than me, and he’s got an undercut, and about a million pins on his blazer lapels. He definitely looks interesting.

I only have the club boys as friends, so I return his wave. Might as well, right? 

I pick out a new volume of fairy tales. I’d wanted them for our break tonight, but I’m probably going to need that time for homework. 

I march off to my afternoon classes, and in my last bell, the teacher’s called in sick- three cheers for study hall! I might start that book yet.

I’ve worked it down to just my math homework and science reading left by the time class is over.

Then, it’s off to the club room. On the way, I run into the first-years, and I slug the twins as a greeting. 

“Ow!”

“Ow!”

Haruhi turns around a little in front of us.

“What’s with all the ows- oh. Hey James!”

I get more than my share of punches back on our way to the club room. When we get there, it’s empty, but the prep room is propped open, and I can see everyone else bustling around past the doorway.

I run up, jump, slap the top of the doorframe, and land with my arms up in a gymnast’s “V”.

“Good afternoon, boys!”

Mori and Tamaki just wave, but Honey jumps away from the clothing rack he’s at to mirror me. 

“Hiiiiiii Jamie!”

Kyoya’s writing in his notebook, like always.

“You’re quite energetic today.”

“Oh, come on, Kyoya, don’t be such a spoilsport.”

“All I said was you were being energetic.”

“You said it like I was committing a capital sin! What are you, the pope?”

I twist around and pretend to fall back and faint.

“Shall I buy my way out of sin now? How much per error?”

“Go to hell, you dramatic layabout.”

An hour later, I slap my math book shut and pull my outfit out of the bag. 

“Is there a special apron you guys want me to wear or anything?”

Everyone else is in their suits by now. 

Tamaki’s sitting upside down on a chair with his legs straight up and our science textbook open in front of him, and he smacks his head into it trying to sit up. 

“Why would you be wearing an apron? It’s a dance party!”

“I don’t dance, Tamaki.”

Hikaru looks up from a paperback.

“Well now you’re just lying to us.”

Kaoru leans up from his position at Hikaru’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, chef, we all saw you yesterday with Kyoya.”

I forgot about that.

“That’s different. I don’t dance with women.”

Tamaki’s apparently recovered from the shock of me telling him I don’t dance.

“You have to dance with women! Girls will be asking you to dance every ten seconds at the party.”

“And I will politely decline them all.”

Kyoya doesn’t even look up from his notebook to burst my bubble.

“Actually, you won’t.”

“Says fucking who?”

“Says me.”

“I don’t want to dance with them.” 

“I’m skipping out on dinner if you don’t dance with the girls who request you.”

Insufferable.

“Now that’s just manipulative.” 

“And?”

In-suff-er-able. 

“You know what? You snore when you sleep.”

That is a complete lie. He does not.

“I do not!”

I slam the outfit I’d packed back into my chair and start off towards the changing rooms.

“You do!”

“DO NOT!”

“DO!”


	21. in which there is a too-small shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> plot devices abound! haruhi takes note of james and kyoya’s behavior and we get to see some of the completed cake designs for the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y’all so like i know i said monday-wednesday-friday updates, and those will probably still continue, but i kinda had to flee the state for some undisclosed reasons so i missed our last two upload dates. however! i promised myself we would get to the date by this weekend, so that’s what we’re going to do! 
> 
> not sure exactly when i’m going to do it, but just check back each night- or whenever you can- and there should be a new chapter each time. 
> 
> moving on to our normal thank-yous: 
> 
> thank you kaz for moral support and proofreading and also being a potential legal witness!
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads my work, i hope you enjoy it:
> 
> and now, the chapter!

Well, now that I apparently have to dance, I might as well wear the suit they picked out for me, right?

It’s a three-piece suit with a red tie, a white shirt, and a black jacket. 

Between that and the combat boots, I look like a fucking butler. This was a mistake.

“Guys, I don’t think I can wear this. I look like a caterer.”

Tamaki answers me from the other side of the division. 

“No you don’t! I picked that one out just for you, and you definitely look great in it!”

Thanks, Dumbass. 

I push the curtain aside and step back into the main room- where I am awarded with a chorus of gasps.

“See? I told you I’d look stupid.”

Hikaru starts talking, and Kaoru finishes the thought for him.

“Actually, chef-”

“You look great!”

Are they serious?

“What?”

Honey runs at me and launches into a hug.

“You look great Jamie! You look super cute!”

Do I? Are they serious?

Tamaki cuts into my thoughts with triumph and slings an arm over my shoulders.

“See! The ideas of the Host King are always good! We might make you a civilized man yet!”

“Tamaki, swear to sky, I’ll hit you again.”

He and Honey literally jump away from me.

But if they say I’m fashionable, might as well, right?

“So, then; what do you think, Mr. Otoori?”

He doesn’t look up.

“You look fine.”

“Kyoya, you didn’t even look at me.”

“I said you’re fine.”

Insufferable.

“Whatever. Also, I don’t think my shoulders will fit in this thing.”

That gets him to look up.

“What do you mean by that?”

I take my blazer off and toss it on one of the chairs, then roll my shoulders a bit. I’m not shredded or anything, but my shoulders have always been big, and they got bigger with my weightlifting. That, and this shirt is only a medium- I normally wear a large. 

I’m showing off. That is the only reason I’m doing this. 

Vanity is such a motivator, isn’t it.

I flex as big as I can, and I hear rips and the sounds of seams popping. Okay, so that was too much. 

“That would be what I meant. This shirt is a size too small, anyway.”

Silence.

“What? Did someone die or something? Was this really expensive? Please say it wasn’t.”

Haruhi answers me, but everyone else just sort of gapes.

“So you hulk out of a dress shirt and expect us to just not be surprised?”

“Listen, I told you it was too small. Is it ripped really bad?”

“Kind of? The seams around the shoulders burst and the back ripped. I could probably fix them, but it’d take some time.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Thanks, Haruhi.”

“I mean, yeah, but it was too small anyway. Besides, imagine if you tried to do something at the party and accidentally ripped it then? That’d be worse. The blazer ought to cover it anyway, so we could probably just safety-pin it and call it a day.”

Wait, this isn’t my shirt. I should apologize.

“I’m sorry about ripping the shirt, you guys. I’ll pay you back for it.”

Kyoya’s blushing. Why is he blushing? 

Oh yeah, I just flexed my way out of my shirt. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Just have Haruhi patch you up and then come down to the salon. As for the rest of us, let’s go make sure everything’s set up.”

He stands up, turns on one heel, and troops out. 

Hikaru and Kaoru give each other a series of looks, then follow him. Honey skips off after them all, and Mori drags Tamaki along in their wake. 

The doors click shut behind him, and Haruhi jumps up out of his chair.

“Alright, now that they’re gone, I have some questions for you. What was all that about-“

He fake-drops his voice and plants a hand in his hair to mimic Kyoya.

“Oh, I’m skipping out on dinner if you don’t dance, oooooh, dramatic layabout, I said you looked fine.”

His Kyoya impression isn’t half bad, which makes it funnier.

We both end up doubled over with laughter, spitting Kyoya-esque lines at each other in ridiculous voices.

“You absolute moron!”

“Sleep first and then dream!”

“The price of that shirt was nothing to sneeze at!”

When we finally stop laughing, Haruhi makes me sit on the floor in front of him as he stitches up the back of my button-down.

“Hey, James. What exactly did he mean by skipping out on dinner?”

Oops. I got caught.

“We may, or may not, be going out to dinner and an arcade after the party.”

“Really? You talked him into that?”

“Well, I owed him for Saturday-“

“James, what the hell did you do on Saturday?”

“Absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Did you go on a date or something?”

“It was just a business meeting.”

“Yeah, yeah. But I am expecting the skinny on whatever happens tonight.”

Sky above. He sounds like Lexi. 

“No way in hell. The twins will crucify me.”

“If you won’t tell me, I’ll just make things happen myself.”

“Jeez, Haruhi, you sound evil. Did that Kyoya impression strike a chord in you?”

He laughs, accidentally stabs me with a safety pin, and then spends three minutes apologizing. Guess it didn’t strike as much of a chord as I thought. 

After all that, it’s a little past five. I pick my science homework up, Haruhi gets his history textbook, and we set off for the ‘salon’. It’s a giant room, with a lofted balcony supported by carved marble pillars. Towards one end, there’s a staircase going up to the overhead balcony, but it feels inadequate to describe it as just a staircase. It’s more like two staircases, criss-crossing each other and with outcrops at every junction. Three outcrops, also made of marble, and covered in thick red carpeting. 

Fucking rich people. 

Hikaru and Kaoru are sitting on the first staircase-balcony railing, with a book the size of a dictionary between them. They look undisturbed about the fact that they’re sitting ten feet in the air over solid stone floors. Mori’s in the corner, fixing Honey’s tie, and Tamaki is talking to a couple of workers who are building a small stage and generally ignoring him. 

Kyoya’s in the corner with his notebook, by-

“KINOSHITA! ITO! HEY!”

Ito just waves, but Kinoshita runs around the table towards me. 

“Lysander! We’re bringing in the main pieces now! You’re going to just love them, they were such a treat to decorate! Isao even took photos before we brought them over, you have to come see!”

She marches me over to where two men in all black are setting up a banquet table that could probably seat seventy people.

Fucking rich people. 

She waves her hand at them, and one of them nods and uncovers a cake big enough to fit a toddler in. 

It’s my design from the other day, minus the tree. 

“See, this is gonna go in the middle of the table, mostly as decoration. We wanted you to get the chance to put the tree on yourself!”

“Thank you, that’s so sweet! You guys did an amazing job. It looks fabulous!”

She actually reaches up and pinches my cheek, like a grandmother. 

“It was nothing! Oh, I bet the girls fall all over you here. A man that can cook is good husband material.”

Well, she’s not wrong, but I don’t exactly want them to fawn on me. 

“If you can believe it, Kyoya actually made me wear this suit. He signed up, like, six girls to dance with me.”

“I see, so I’m right! Are any of them catching your eye?”

Ito notices me awkwardly blushing and steps in to rescue me from Kinoshita. 

“Chieko, let’s go make sure none of the apprentices drop anything. We haven’t seen them for a few minutes, a disaster is about the last thing we need.”

Thank you, Ito, for saving me! 

Kyoya looks up over the top of his notebook to watch them leave.

I cross over to stand at his shoulder and watch him scribble. 

“So, Mr. Otoori, why did you sign me up to dance with six different women?”

“They wanted to dance with you.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a host, and I’m not attracted to any of them.”

“And? I’m not attracted to any of the women in our club.”

“Ah, so you do like boys! Called it.”

“Shut up.”

“Not a chance, Kyoya.”


	22. in which there is outside interference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haruhi is fucking ruthless and he is going to let everyone know about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn the amount of research i did for tango was stupidddddddd.
> 
> Anyway:
> 
> thank you to kaz for proofreading and listening to me babble all the time.
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads and likes my work, i hope you enjoy!
> 
> without further ado: the chapter!

Haruhi’s been walking around that upstairs balcony with Tamaki this whole time, and thinking back on what he said about making things happen himself, I’m a little worried that he’s communing with our ‘King’.

A little bit of an accident would make the evening more exciting, but I don’t want more much excitement after the week I’ve had. 

Well, there’s not much I can do about it, other than maybe leave, but I don’t want a scene. 

I supervise the apprentices putting out the refreshments- this place even uses fine china at school parties. And real silver utensils.

Fucking rich people.

Once everything’s in place, I cross over to the railing where the twins are perched and hop up next to them with my science homework. 

We don’t really talk, just read our separate books until Tamaki says it’s time to get ready. 

Musicians file in and sit down on that stage from earlier, then start tuning up. I can see girls crossing the yard outside in stupidly expensive dresses.

Apparently the host club is a bigger deal than I thought it was. 

Tamaki makes us all hide our stuff on the upstairs balcony, then stand in a row on the first sort of tier. 

It’s the same as any other acting gig. I can do this. Pull through and be strong, James! The light at the end of your tunnel is an arcade date with Kyoya Otoori. 

Okay, yeah, that’s decent motivation.

Breathe in, breathe out, big smile.

The clock strikes six in the courtyard and the doors at the other end of the hall creak open. The lights are off, so I guess Tamaki is waiting for some big reveal. 

When the girls are all gathered in the middle of the room, a spotlight hits Tamaki.

A spotlight?

He’s so damned dramatic.

“Welcome, ladies, one and all, to the Ouran host club’s first party of the school year!”

There are giant crystal chandeliers that all snap on at once when he finishes talking. 

Fucking rich people. 

“Remember, princesses, tonight our club is here for your enjoyment, so we invite you all to dance to your heart’s content!”

The band starts playing a waltz.

FUCKING rich people. 

Then, quiter, just to us, he says:

“Let’s go, men! There are girls waiting to be waltzed into a stupor.”

Are the girls at this school normal?

We split into two lines of four, march down the steps, and disperse throughout the guests. I manage to avoid the girls I normally wait on for a few minutes, leaning up against one of the pillars that supports the wraparound balcony. 

I can’t be safe forever, though. That girl Kojima, Tamaki’s regular, with the coily red hair, comes up and blushes her way through asking me to dance.

Kyoya’s watching me from over the shoulder of some bottle-blond bitch: calculating.

“It’d be my pleasure, miss.”

Her hands are sweaty, but she’s a jovial enough dancing partner, and I make her laugh a couple times before the song ends. 

After that, I’ve got a steady flow of requests. 

Takahashi, Sugimoto, Nomura, Kibo, and a line of others who I don’t at all remember. 

The girls are all easy enough to make happy. Make them laugh, give them a couple nice smiles. I do like dancing, it’s just not as fun with girls. 

After the first hour, the musicians take a break, and the girls head over to the edges of the room to drink punch and eat miniscule slices of cake. The twins are there, plus Mori, Honey, Kyoya, and me. I’d say everyone’s there, but I don’t see Haruhi. Or Tamaki, which is very weird. 

They don’t seem like ones to miss this, and I’m very unsure of why they aren’t here. 

Between that and him saying he’d make things happen himself, I’m almost terrified. But that Takahashi chick comes up and offers me a cup of something, and I switch back into polite mode. No time to worry about what they’re doing. 

For all I know, they’re having sex in a boiler room. 

Okay, that wouldn’t happen here at Ouran. But it’s not impossible. 

The band’s taking a 15 minute break, and towards the end of it, Haruhi and Tamaki are still miss-

“Good evening, princesses! This is only our first party of the year, and we wanted to give you all a taste of some more styles the club is considering for later on.”

Tamaki?

“So, we’ll be having a demonstration by two of our very own club members. Our newest addition and waiter, James-

The girls fall away from me as a spotlight blinds me, but I don’t bother hiding the shock and confusion on my face. 

“and our director, Kyoya!”

A spotlight hits him, too.

Those sneaky, underhanded, interfering, bastards. I was right to be scared of Haruhi- apparently he has an evil streak a mile wide. But to get Tamaki involved too?

Sky above and Hell below. 

He’s vicious. 

I’m blushing like hell, yes, but I snap out of my awkward shock before Kyoya. 

I reach into my back pocket, pop in a piece of gum, and walk over to him. The blush has passed and I’m aware that my face is twisted up into a scowl, but I can’t be bothered. I snatch him up by the forearm and head for the dance area.

The girls are chattering behind us. The eyes that are gouging into my back feel like fire. 

I send the nastiest look I can manage up at the balcony where Tamaki is holding the microphone for Haruhi, who’s toting the CD player from the club room. So that’s where those cucks went. 

Track 14: Ballroom Tango starts up on the loudspeakers. 

I snatch Kyoya up and into position. I can beat the shit out of those two later. Right now we have things to do. 

I refuse to look him in the eyes- if I do I swear I’ll die on the spot. His untouchable demeanor snaps back on. From here on out, it’s muscle memory. 

A few beats in, he fixes me with a piercing glare. 

“Did you know about all this, James?”

I’m still not looking at him for fear of bursting into a blush so intense I combust. 

“No. Now shut up and dance with me.”

After a few rounds of just the five-step, I start adding things. A corte, then another five-step, a corte, a five-step, a fan, a cross, switch back to five step; everything just turns into a pattern of movement. 

Kyoya’s just following me, reflexively mirroring every move. Finally, fucking finally, the end is coming up. 

Fan, cross-step, cross-step, fan, five-step, fan.

I swear I don’t act on anything other than instinct when I swing back in from the fan and dip him. 

The track doesn’t even finish playing before the crowd bursts into literal screaming applause. Girls storm us on the dance floor, and the other boys just sort of watch us get mobbed. 

Those pricks. I bet Haruhi got them in on this too. 

I get swept off by a clump of girls from my tables, and they spend the next ten minutes asking me questions about dancing and scuffing my boots with their Louis Vuittons trying to dance with me. 

I don’t see Kyoya for the rest of the night. On the other hand, I can’t see anyone past the mass of girls around me. 

Finally, blessed, blessed, blessed finally, Tamaki heads back up to the microphone, and announces the party’s end. One of Haruhi’s regulars wins Queen of the Ball, gets her kiss on the cheek, and the girls all troop out. 


	23. in which there is an all-night diner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ARCADE. DATE. PART. ONE!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART TWO IS OUT TOMORROW LOVE YOU BYE

I can finally take the breath I’ve been holding for the last hour or so, and I immediately use it to start yelling at Haruhi.

_“YOU INTERFERING, PANSY-DICKED, **CUCK!** WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?”_

I ran across the room at him and snatched him up by the collar- he’s now wiggling like a dying fish with his feet six inches off the ground. 

“Are you kidding me? That was great! Everyone loved you!”

“You didn’t tell either of us that was going to happen, and then you roped everyone else into it! You’re positively vicious!”

Mori’s come up from behind Haruhi and lifted him out of my grasp. 

“Calm down.”

“Not you too, Mori!”

Kyoya slaps a hand on my shoulder. 

“James, calm down and quit talking in English.”

“He totally set us up!”

“Well, okay, it was a terrible idea to spring that on us at the last minute, but it’ll bring in more clients.”

Insufferable.

“Whatever. Are we done here?” 

“Mostly. Kinoshita will take it from here.”

“So we can leave?”

“Once we get changed.”

“Let’s blow this fucking pop stand.”

Kaoru cuts in.

“First of all, that metaphor doesn’t translate into Japanese. Secondly-“

Hikaru picks up where he left off. 

“-where are you in such a rush to leave to? And why is Kyoya going with you?”

I look at Hikaru, then at Kyoya, then over at Haruhi, then again at Kyoya. 

“Kyoya, you want to explain this one?”

“Certainly. James and I are going out after this.”

Well. Leave it to him to be blunter than a whetstone. 

Everyone, in unison:

“Going out? Like a date?”

He looks at me with a tinge of panic on his face.

“This one’s yours to handle, Kyoya. Is it or isn’t it?”

Then I turn on one heel and start off up the stairs towards where everyone hid their things. 

I honestly don’t want to hear the answer. Am I hoping it’s a date? Of course. 

But if it isn’t?

I’d rather find that out later, alone and less embarrassed. 

By the time I come back downstairs with everyone’s books and coats, the twins have moved on to bullying Tamaki. 

We all head back to the club room in a clump, and I ruffle Haruhi’s hair as an apology for freaking out. I think he understands, because he gives me a light punch on the arm in return. 

We take turns using the changing rooms, and after about ten minutes, one opens up for me. I brought a white T-shirt to go along under my button-down, and I have the usual debate of tucked V untucked. 

By the time I’m done, I look completely different from how I looked at the party.

Dockers, leather belt, a metric fuckton of chains and rings, and a black, short sleeve button-down over a tucked in T-shirt. The heeled boots too, of course. 

I rip the curtain open and bow out to the room.

“Voila!”

Kyoya doesn’t look up again. Dammit. 

Most of the others give me approving nods. Mori even flashes me a quick thumbs-up.

Kyoya disappears into the changing room I just left, and I start gathering our things up. 

Hikaru and Kaoru beckon me over and start whispering at me. 

“We couldn’t get an answer out of him. Is it a date or not?”

“Yeah, chef, is it or isn’t it?”

I glance back over at the changing room.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know. I hope it is- but he’s very difficult to read. Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll tell you Monday.”

Kyoya steps out of the changing room in jeans and a polo.

“James, I’m ready to leave if you are.”

“Coming. I’ve got your bag.”

We make our way to the door of the prep room, wave goodbye to the others, and leave. 

Once we get down to the courtyard, he pulls out his phone and starts punching buttons.

“What are you doing?”

He looks up from his phone like I grew an extra head. 

“Calling us a car, duh.”

“Well, stop it. We’re walking.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? It’s warm out and where we’re going isn’t far.”

“Fine. Where are we going?”

He looks put out by having to walk. Rich boy bastard. 

“You like spicy food, right?”

I offer him an earbud, and we wind through the streets for maybe fifteen minutes to Bad Religion. 

I’m taking him to what we call a “greasy spoon” in America: all-night diners, serving hangover cures and coffee for cheap. In Japan, the hangover cures are VERY different: Lexi drinks bottles of Ukon no Chikara or Hepalyse before she goes out. 

On the other hand, ramen and miso soup, watermelon, persimmons, and umeboshi- are all relatively popular as hangover foods. They also serve foods from America or Eastern Europe. “Garbage Plates” which are almost exactly what their name is: a conglomerate of chilli, homefries, eggs, mac’n’cheese, and tahoe sauce- whatever you can find in your kitchen. French onion soup, fried fish, bacon sandwiches. 

He seems incredibly unsure of what the fuck he’s looking at when I pull him into the shop. It’s a hole-in-the-wall sort of place, where none of the chairs match. 

“C’mon, rich boy, we’re here.”

“This is where commoners go on dates?”

“No, but it’s what’s open and what I can afford. Besides, it’s good food.”

“Fine.”

I have to actually pull him up to the counter at the front of the room. Brat. 

He just sort of waves his hand at the menu board when I ask him what he wants. 

Fucking rich boy. 

I send him off to pick out a table, then order us a bowl of ramen and a garbage plate, along with a coke for me and a red-eye for Kyoya. 

When I get back to the table, he’s wiping it off with the shitty paper napkins they have. He doesn’t even notice me until I sit down. 

“Hey, rich boy. I got you a red-eye.”

“How do you know I drink red-eyes?”

I’m not snitching on Miss Abe.

“Intuition.”

I give him the Garbage Plate- the ones here come with chicken instead of chilli, but their Tahoe sauce is good. He looks at it with disdain for a good thirty seconds. 

Fucking rich people. 

I just sort of ignore him and start dousing my ramen in hot sauce. 

When he finally takes a bite, I hear a little surprised gasp.

“You alright?”

“This is good.”

“I told you it would be.”

We eat the rest of our meal in a comfortable silence, and I go up to pay the tab. Even saving my lunch money from last week, it’s kind of expensive. An arcade was the right choice- I wouldn’t be able to afford a movie. 

I come back to the table, shoot back the rest of my coke, then stack our plates up for the waitress. 

“You ready to go, then?”

He’s writing in that infernal notebook again. 

“Yeah. Where are we going?”

“An arcade a few blocks down.”

He shoves it back into his bookbag and stands up. 

“This’ll be interesting. I’ve never been to one.”

I can definitely beat him at pac-man.

As we walk, I offer him a stick of my gum, and he takes it. By the face he makes, I don’t think he was expecting the cinnamon-ness of it- they don’t sell the brand I chew in Japan.

One of my friends sends me packs of it, and I send him packs of blueberry back. It’s rude to chew in public, though, so I try and only do it when nobody’s around. 

Before we go into the arcade, I make Kyoya throw his gum away too. I’m really not trying to get either of us in trouble because we’re stupid. 

When we go in and up to the machine you buy tokens from, he immediately whips out a credit card, and I have to spend three minutes bullying him into putting it away. 

I buy us a cupful of tokens each and we head off into the arcade. 

He’s absolutely terrible at any of the ones relying on luck, or strength, or ones that don’t really require skills and are just how fast you can hit buttons. 

So I do manage to beat him at pac-man, but then he beats me six ways to sunday at tetris and some game with a giant piano keyboard. I don’t care. He’s laughing. They’ve even got a DDR game, and I’m so awful at it that we both end up doubled over in hysterics. 

It’s mostly tipsy college-aged kids here since it’s so late, and we get a lot of weird looks, but it’s not exactly embarrassing to be bad at a game when there’s two semi-drunk guys trying to play an unplugged machine. 

We play a game where you harpoon a bunch of fish, then a fighter, then a rigged basketball hoop that stiffs me. I make up for the lost tokens with a zombie shooter sim- I even beat the highscore. 

“Are all Americans so violent?”

There’s a perfectly good opportunity for a pickup line there, so I pump the orange plastic shotgun to reload it and wink at him.

“No, I’m just good with my hands.”

He blushes, but still gives me the obligatory eye roll. I turn back to the screen and start mowing down zombies again. 


	24. in which there is a photo booth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ARCADE DATE PART TWWOOOOOOOOO GO CRAZY GO STUPID

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you kaz for proofreading!
> 
> thank you to any and everyone who reads my work, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> without any more delay: THE CHAPTER!

Fifteen minutes later, we finish a racing game and run out of tokens. 

“Do you think this place has a prize counter?”

“James, what the fuck is a prize counter?”

“Oh. I forgot you were rich. Well, when you win a game and it gives you the tickets, you can go spend the tickets on prizes.”

“Are they good prizes?”

“Nope. They’re terrible. Now let’s go find the counter. I wanna see if they have taffy.”

I half-guide, half-drag Kyoya around until we find the counter. I was right- the prizes are terrible. I end up buying a box of candy cigarettes and a shitty plastic ring. 

“What do you want with candy cigarettes?”

“Use your head, Otoori.”

“You smoke?”

“Not anymore, genius. Now what are you getting?”

“Nothing here particularly appeals to me, so I don’t want anything.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that? It’s a waste otherwise. Pick something out.”

He looks genuinely pained to have to choose something from the counter, but I point out a pair of red and blue gel pens, and he slips them into his bag. He also doesn’t want me to see it, but he smiles. 

We start towards the door, but I immediately get sidetracked by a photo booth. 

Then I get a very stupid, gutsy idea. 

“Hey, Kyoya, do you want to go see the photo booth?”

“I’ve never been in one, so why not?”

Well, on the one hand, I get the feeling this is a date. On the other, this has the potential to be moronic. 

Whatever. 

But it’s a very anxious whatever.

I lead Kyoya in, close the curtain, feed the machine a couple hundred yen, and start to set up the photos. 

“They’re gonna take three photos, ten seconds apart. Then you pick the ones you like and print them.”

“And I just smile?”

“Uhhh, sure.”

I click the button and the screen starts blinking. 

10.

9.

8.

“Hey, Kyoya.”

7.

6.

“What?”

5.

He turned to look at me just now. 

4.

He looks good. He’s a little flushed from all the laughing. 

3.

He’s just shorter than me when we’re sitting down.

2.

The camera is about to start. 

Sink or swim, right?

I lean over and kiss him, and he hesitates for half a second, and kisses me back. 

I can hear the machine beeping, and after an _excellent_ few seconds we break apart.

My face is on fire, and his is too, but I’m filled with a sort of pride- I’m smiling like a prick right now. 

“That’s all I wanted to say.”

“You could’ve done that sooner.”

“Then let me do it again.”

I grab the back of his head and pull him towards me. He smells good. Like evergreen and mint. He wraps an arm around my back- pressing me a little closer into him. 

Kyoya Otoori is kissing me. I’m a lucky man. 

Our photos come out perfect- the first one is me leaning up towards him, the second is us scarlet-faced and grinning, the third is us actually kissing. 

I order two copies, and give one to Kyoya. 

I catch him smiling at it as he tucks it in his bag. 

When we get outside, he doesn’t even offer to call a car. He just firmly, resolutely tells me he’s walking me home, and I let him. 

Any excuse to hold onto him for a while is a welcome one. 

We don’t talk. We don’t listen to music. It’s just his hand, pressed into mine, and my thumb brushing back-and-forth over the back of his palm. 

It’s just us, and the quiet streets, and the dark neighborhoods. And we’re not saying anything, but I don’t mind. 

I still don’t feel like I need to fill the silence with him. 

When we get to my apartments, it’s dark. 

11:36. 

That would make some sense as to why it’s dark. 

“Hey, do we have designs for next week?”

“No, but you don’t need to come up with any. It’s late. Kinoshita will think of something.” 

“Alright. I’ll get you some in advance on Monday. But I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Then I suppose you should go to bed.”

“Can you at least come in before your driver shows up?”

“I don’t think that would be too bad.”

I lead Kyoya up the stairs to my apartment, unlock it, and guide him inside. 

“Take your shoes off. I’ll make tea.”

He obediently takes his shoes off and heads to sit at the table. 

I start the kettle, then head to my bedroom and grab my design book. 

“Here. Pick them out from this and you can run them up to Kinoshita and Ito.”

I’ve never let anyone look through my design book without me. 

I’ve also never kissed anyone in a photobooth.

Tonight is several firsts, then. 

We sit and drink in silence until his phone rings. 

“That’d be my driver.”

He doesn’t get up, we just watch it buzz. 

I stand up. 

“Come on, Kyoya. You have to go home.”

He follows me to the door, and I get a perfect doorstep moment.

He turns to leave, but I grab him by the wrist and turn him back around. 

I cup his jaw and kiss him one more time, and then I let him go. 

When he gets down to his car, he waves up at me, and I wave back at him until they pull off. 


	25. in which there are some terms and conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamaki is still oblivious, but it works out well for Kyoya and James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you kaz for proofreading, ily bestie!
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys my work, i appreciate all your support
> 
> and without further ado: the chapter!

I wake up Saturday morning and spend a long moment thinking about it all. 

I cross over my bedroom to my hamper, and pull the photo strip from last night out of my pants pocket. 

He doesn’t look like this at school. He looks blank there- charming and unreal. 

Am I the only one who he laughs around? Who he blushes with?

Maybe I am. It’s a soft, complicated feeling. 

I tuck the photo strip into the inside pocket of my homework notebook and go to get ready for the day. 

I eat breakfast, get dressed, grab my wallet, gloves, and pocket knife, and leave a note for Lexi. 

My uncle texted me the address of where we’re meeting- it’s an apartment complex maybe twenty minutes away. 

I guess we’re doing renos today. 

When I get there, one of uncle’s friends is waiting for me in front of the building, tapping his pack against his leg. 

And they wondered where I learned to smoke. 

I actually remembered my pack of candy cigarettes this morning instead of my normal gum. Less lung disease, same motions. 

“Hey, Brick!”

That’d be me- nobody Uncle works with uses their actual name for very long. Your funniest job accident or story is your nickname most times. Uncle is just “uncle” to anyone but his friends, in the same way that Lexi’s only my cousin, but I call her Aunty. 

I got my nickname because when I was three, I ran headfirst into a stack of bricks and cracked my head open. We didn’t even go to a hospital- Uncle wrapped me up in bandannas, packing tape, and cooler ice, and put me back in my car seat.

Thanks, Uncle. 

“Hey, Mr. Snap!”

Mr. Snap got his name because he would always snap when he talked. Then he lost his index finger to a table saw, but the nickname was already there. 

He leads me inside and up a few flights of stairs to an apartment. There are a few other guys there too, working on a kitchen backsplash. 

“Guys, Brick’s here! And Cap’s coming sometime after noon. After that, it’s lunch!”

We get a few acknowledging nods, and then Mr. Snap hands me a sledgehammer and tells me to start swinging. 

I start on taking the wall between the kitchen and dining room out. This must be a high-profile job; they have indoor stairs and a separate dining room and a living room instead of a combination.

Once we get that down, Snap sends one of the new guys to help me start cutting out the beams. 

Then we start carting the debris out and downstairs, and by about 12:15, the wall is out.

A couple of the guys help me carry the last of the rubble out, and then we all stand by the door to wait for uncle and smoke. 

I make a point to stand upwind of them, but we’re all still unlit when my phone rings. I don’t even check the ID before I open it, just start talking around my fake. 

“Yeah?”

“Hey, James.”

Oh, fuck, it’s Kyoya. 

“Hang on a minute.”

I slap my hand over the speaker and rip the cigarette out of my mouth. 

“I’VE GOT A CALL, EVERYBODY SHUT UP!”

Mr. Snap fixes me with a squint and flicks his cig. 

“Ooh, I see. BUCKET! ROCKY! BRICK’S GOT HIMSELF A BOYFRIEND!”

“SHUT UP, SNAP!”

“OOOOOOH! Not denying you’ve got yourself a gentleman caller, yeah?”

He caught me. 

“I’m going for a walk, if uncle shows up, tell him I’ll be back soon.”

I can hear them all “ooooooh” -ing behind me, but I stick the candy cigarette back in my mouth and uncover the phone as I stalk off down the block. 

“Sorry about that, I’m back.”

He’s laughing. 

“Uhhh- did you by chance hear all that, Kyoya?”

More laughter- it’s contagious, and I start laughing too. 

He pulls himself together after a moment.

“Every word. You’re at work?”

“Yeah, but we’re about to head somewhere and get lunch. I just took out a wall, though, so I’m a bit dusty.”

‘A bit dusty’ is an understatement. I look like I hugged a ghost and I’m wearing my rattiest work jeans.

“Well, that puts a damper on my plans for the afternoon.”

Oh?

“What were your plans for the afternoon?”

“Well, Tamaki invited me over to his house to play video games, or watch movies, or something. I’m not sure what he wanted to do, but I figured I’d bring you along.”

Kyoya Otoori keeps taking me places. 

“Well, I think my uncle wants to get lunch with me. But after that, I could probably freshen up and head over. What time were you thinking of?”

“He said to meet at 3:00?”

“I can make that. Send me his address, will you? I have to get directions.”

“I’ll text you that in a minute.”

“Alright, darling, I will see you then.”

“Darling?”

“Yeah? Should I not?”

“No. That’s fine.”

He’s smiling- I can hear it, in his voice. 

“See you.”

“See you.”

I head back up the block to where the others are lighting up and mentally prepare myself for all the arm-punches I’m about to get. 

By the time uncle shows up, I think I’m bruised. 

After that, we all split up for lunch- Uncle and I end up sitting on a bench with our food on our knees. 

“Hey, Uncle. Is the gig over? I’ve been invited to something for the afternoon.”

“Yeah. Why? You got a man on your arm?”

“I got invited to a friends house for the afternoon, is all.”

Uncle fixes me with a look over his glasses. 

“That’s not an answer to my question, kid.”

“Alright, yes. But don’t make a big deal of-“

He slugs me in the arm. Ow. 

“Knew it! Rocky told me something was up. So you’re becoming a man, huh?”

“What is it with you guys and punching me?”

“Ehhh, right of passage. They beat me half to death when I got married.”

We laugh, and then a silence settles as we eat for another few minutes. 

“You talked to Lexi about how we’re going on the lists, yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, staying independent would only be plausible for so long, it just might be harder to make sure everyone gets the full wage they deserve.”

“We’re planning on making everyone’s files public: if nothing happens under the table, it all works out.”

“So then you really do want me to manage for you?”

“Well, you’re still very young. But once you’re out of school, if you’d like to, everyone would enjoy having you join.”

“Then I’ll probably do it. I would want some time before that to get my life together. But that sounds fine by me.”

“Then once we’ve got it sorted, it’ll be me and Lexi till you’re ready to take it up.”

“That’s that, then.”

We give each other a nod and go back to our food. 

Once we finish eating, he wraps me up in a hug and we go our separate ways. 

I’m still covered in plaster dust, so when I get home, I have to take my boots off in the atrium and then head straight for the shower.

Half an hour later, I’m out of the shower with a towel around my shoulders and a map in one hand. Tamaki apparently lives in the same “neighborhood” as Kyoya. 

Well, no use waiting and being late. I scribble the directions out on a sheet of printer paper, pack up, and  hit the road- Lexi evidently went out. 

Nearly an hour of skating later, I’m on the last stretch of directions. Why do rich people have such big lawns? Can’t they just live in apartments like normal people? My legs are killing me. 

When I finally get to the address, it’s another six minutes just to get up the driveway. 

Fucking rich people. 

Tamaki also lives in a mansion that could more accurately be described as a castle: giant steps lead up to 12-foot-tall double doors on a stone house. 

Fucking rich people. 

They swing open in front of me before I can even ring the doorbell. 

Fucking rich people. 

Neither of the boys are there to wait for me, just a lineup of various house staff and a grandmotherly woman who introduces herself as Tamaki’s maid. 

_ Fuck- _ ing rich people. 

“I’ll show you to his room now. Mr. Otoori is already there as well.”

She starts leading me up a staircase that takes up half the entrance hall, then down a hallway to the left. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, what’s your name?” 

“I am Tamaki’s maid, and the head of staff for the Suoh families second estate.”

“But what’s your name?”

She hesitates a moment. 

“You may call me Maezono; my full name is Maezono Shima.”

“Thank you for having me, Ms. Maezono.”

“You’re welcome. Here’s Tamaki’s bedroom, he and Mr. Otoori will be in there.”

She turns and starts off the way we came. 

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

I open the door to a bedroom the size of an apartment. 

Damn rich people. 

Kyoya’s on a couch, reading a paperback, and Tamaki’s doing a handstand on the bed. 

Oh, the duality of man. 

Tamaki notices me first. 

“Hey, James! How-“

He falls over into the bed. 

“Hi, Tamaki.”

Kyoya’s smiling. 

“Hey, rich boy.”

“Hello.”

Tamaki sits back up, and cuts his eyes back and forth between us for a good fifteen seconds.

Kyoya snaps his book closed and gives him a look. 

“What’s wrong, Tamaki?”

“You only smile like that once in a while. Why are you smiling?”

“So I’m not allowed to smile?

“No, it’s just suspicious…”

So close to the point, and yet so far. 

I cross over and flop down on the couch next to Kyoya. 

“So, Mr. Suoh, what’re we doing today?”

“Well, normally when Kyoya comes over, we just hang out. He reads, and I just entertain myself.”

“Rich people are the most boring people alive. C’mon, I’m teaching you both how to gamble.”

In unison:

“Gamble?”

I have Tamaki send for a deck of playing cards and then I start robbing them blind at poker. 

We’re even playing for actual cash. 

Wealth redistribution!

After about an hour, Tamaki calls up someone to bring us food. 

Instead of getting a bowl of popcorn or something, like normal people have for snacks, a girl knocks on his door carrying two huge stacked trays of different foods: chopped melon, cheese and crackers, orange slices, rice cakes, carrot sticks, tiny sandwiches, chips, weird foil-wrapped chocolates, strawberries, and lemonade.

Both of them act like that’s a perfectly normal snack, instead of enough food to feed a small family for a week. 

“You rich people are insufferable, you know that?”

Kyoya picks up a sandwich and chomps into it, ignoring me for a turkey & swiss on white bread. 

Thanks, Kyoya. 

Tamaki looks positively shaken.

“We are not! This is a perfectly normal snack!”

“Tamaki, this is enough food to feed a small village.”

“Liar!”

“Whatever, you moron.”

If they’ve got all this prepared for us, I might as well eat some. I am hungry. 

Tamaki turns on a movie, and we spend the next two hours kicked back on pillows, eating snacks and watching a shitty action flick from the 80’s. 

Somewhere, in the darkness of it, my hand finds Kyoya’s, and we lay there like that for an impossibly sweet moment. 

Then the movie ends, but we don’t let go until Tamaki asks me for help packing everything up. It’s lucky he’s so oblivious- I have to figure out whether or not we can tell the other boys yet. 

We’re both in the club, so it stands that being with Kyoya means we both still have to host. 

But- and, admittedly, it makes my cheeks pink to think of- he only gives those tiny smiles to me. I am the only boy I’ve ever seen make him blush. I am the only boy who has ever taken him to a shitty all-night diner, and then beaten him at pac-man and kissed him stupid in a photo booth. 

I am perfectly alright with not telling the world: keeping us a happy secret to people outside the club- because at the end of it, I am the one making him smile, making him blush, making him laugh that laugh his hand darts up to hide. 

Maybe that’s what intimacy is: the concept that regardless of who knows it, I am the most dear to you, and you the most to me. 

I should write a book. 

“-llo? James? Are you alright?”

“Huh?”

Tamaki’s leaning over me, a little worried.

“You zoned out.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

I sit up off my pillow. 

“What time is it?”

Kyoya checks his watch.

“5:30, why?”

Fuck.

“I’ve got to leave.”

Kyoya, sturdy as ever. 

“Then I’m walking you home.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Why not?”

“Because it took me an hour to skate here.”

Tamaki is looking back and forth between us with squinty eyes. 

Kyoya gives him a very resigned sigh. 

“Problem, Tamaki?”

Squinty eyes. 

“...No.”

“Then James and I need to get going.”

More squinty eyes.

“...Fine.”

Tamaki guides us downstairs and waves goodbye as we head off down the outside stairs. There’s a gate on his house- not the neighborhood, or the driveway, his fucking house.

Fucking rich people. 

Once we get to the other side of it, I lean against the fence and start strapping my skates on. 

“James.”

He looks frightened. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want anyone outside of the club or in my family to know. Anyone upperclass.To know. That we’re together.”

“I figured. And I’m okay with that. You’re enough for me.”

A tiny smile that he tries to squish down. 

I finish pulling my skates on and stand up. 

“Hey, Kyoya.”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me goodnight.”

He does. 

“And once more for good luck?”

He doesn’t try not to smile now- just kisses me. 

And then we break apart, and I smile at him, and he smiles back, and we say goodbye. 


	26. in which there are some doctors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> remember the physical exam episode? what if we did that but made it less creepy?
> 
> WA-BAM thats the chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you kaz for proofreading and support like always!
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads and enjoys my work, especially the few new commenters i noticed with chapter 24/25!
> 
> and without further ado: the chapter!

Sunday dawns bright, clear, and warm. The day passes normally too: boxing practice; where I meet up with Akito and we spar. Then, shopping for the week, and meal prep. 

Well- not entirely normally. I text Kyoya goodnight and good morning, and then smile at my phone a minute each time. 

It feels foolish. And I don’t care. 

Monday is the same as any other Monday. Toast and fruit for breakfast, say hello to the boys when I’m in class, doodle tiny stars and hearts on my science notes. 

I make small talk with the library aide who keeps waving at me, and I find out he’s named Victor Petrovna. He also has an accent that’s hard to place when he’s speaking Japanese. 

Everything is very normal- till the twins pull me aside in the club room before we open.

“So?”

“Was it?”

I pull the photo strip out of my homework notebook.

“This answer your questions, kids?”

They go bug-eyed and I have to spend a full minute prying my photo strip out of their hands, then another lecturing them on how they can’t tell anyone outside of the club. 

Tyke bastards. 

I notice Kyoya shooting us a death glare from across the room and bite back a smile.

He finds a moment to pretend to look for a pen in the prep room while I’m making tea, and I make a point of threading my hand through the back of his hair and messing it up when he kisses me. 

I flirt through the sessions, layering the charm on thick to make up for the fact that I was dancing with another boy only three days ago. I don’t want to deal with being put on a weird pedestal like Kaoru and Hikaru, and I REALLY can’t let it slip anything’s there between me and Kyoya, or it’d all blow up in my face. 

And not in the fun way. 

I get through the timeslots without anyone suggesting that I’m into men. Success!

Then, once we’re all cleaned up, I flop down on a couch next to Kyoya and begrudgingly take out my workbook. 

Do I want to conjugate more formal Japanese verbs? 

No. 

Is Kyoya pretty enough to make up for it just by sitting next to me?

Yes. 

So I guess I’ll survive. 

Nobody seems to have pulled Tamaki into the loop- although Haruhi, Mori, and Honey have figured it out on their own. 

He’s standing across the room in front of us, doing those squinty eyes back and forth between us. 

“Tamaki, why are you making that face?”

His eyes narrow a bit more, and he looks exclusively at me. 

“No reason. No reason at all…”

“If there’s something you’d like to ask Kyoya and I, ask us, don’t make weird faces at us.”

“Are you two…”

Kyoya’s looked up from his notebook.

“Are we what?”

“Are you… together?”

The opportunity to be a little bit of a jerk is here and I’m taking it. 

“We’re sitting next to each other, if that’s what you’re asking?”

Kyoya’s hand flies up to cover his smile, and I hear a few muffled giggles from the others. 

“No, as in TOGETHER together.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, is there another way you can phrase it?”

More laughs. 

Tamaki takes a full thirty seconds to collect himself.

“Well, are you, you know, boyfriends?”

“Oh.”

I look over at Kyoya, and he gives me a tiny nod. 

“Yeah. But you can’t tell anyone outside of the club.”

Tamaki about dies.

“YOU ARE?”

“No shit, Dick Tracy.”

Kaoru cuts in.

“That doesn’t translate into Japanese well, but we get the idea.”

Tamaki’s still blanching, but the rest of us go back to our homework. 

Eventually, he seems to work through the shock, and he goes to sit back down. 

At six, we all troop down the steps and outside, and then everyone heads home. And it’s us, in the courtyard. 

Nobody else is out. Hardly anyone else is still at school. 

I sit down and start pulling my skates on. 

Certainly nobody is in the courtyard. 

When they’re on, I stand up and look over at him. 

“You look pretty.”

“Go home, James.”

“Good-luck kiss, first.”

“Fine.”

He smiles into the kiss a little. 

“I’ll call you when I get home.”

“Good.”

I do, and we call longer than we used to. He doesn’t actually talk, just listens to me. It’s a sweet feeling. 

When I get ready for bed, I have to do an extra T-shot. I missed mine last week in all the fuss. 

Then I fall asleep staring at the streetlights.

Tuesday is as good as any other- more small talk with that library aide, more homework, more good-luck kisses and goodnight texts. 

On Wednesday, I have another sparring practice with Akito, who teaches me some of the common fight patterns. 

On Thursday, it’s the warmest it’s been my whole time here, and on the way home, I have to take my sweater off. Halfway there, Haruhi calls me in a panic. 

“Haruhi? Why are you calling? What’s wrong?”

“The twins just told me physical exams are tomorrow!”

“Okay, why are we worried about that?”

“Because, we’re hosts. Physical exams mean being shirtless in front of everyone!”

“What? That can’t be legal. Is it?”

“Yes!”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah!”

“Alright. When I get home, I’ll call everyone, and we’ll get, like, a conference call going on. They’re rich. They’ll think of something.”

“Alright. You really think that they’ll come up with something?”

“They have to. They practically run the school. I’ll call you in about fifteen minutes.”

Click.

When I do get home, I say hi to Lexi, snatch up the landline, and make straight for my bedroom. 

“Hello? Kyoya?”

“Why do you sound so worried? What’s happening?”

“Physical exams are tomorrow!”

“Yeah, and?”

“Have you forgotten about Haruhi and I?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve already arranged a private clinic for the two of you.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Yeah- but don’t tell Tamaki.”

“What? Why?”

“He thought of it earlier and decided he would pretend to be Haruhi. As in: put on a wig, and that’s it. The twins overheard and went along with it- so we might as well have a bit of fun, yeah?”

“You’re positively vicious. I’ll call Haruhi and tell him the plan.”

He laughs, and it gets a chuckle out of me, too.

We take longer than we should have to say goodbye, and I immediately ring up Haruhi. 

“Kid, you’re not going to believe this.”

“Believe what?”

“Not only had they already thought of something, Kyoya prepared us a special clinic.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Yeah, but listen: Tamaki wants to put on a wig and pretend to be you at the physical exam- and him getting caught like that is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard of in my life, so what do you think?”

He giggles. 

“I can turn a blind eye to that, I’d say.”

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow then, yeah?”

“For sure.”

After that, I troop back into the kitchen, where Lexi has the fan on and is pan-frying hotdogs. 

Three cheers for Lexi!

On Friday morning, the weather reports call for another overwarm day, so I swap my sweater out for a blazer and hope I don’t get into trouble. 

I don’t, so I guess Ouran isn’t as uptight on their dress code as they pretend to be. 

Tamaki is, of course, caught during the exams, because he’s a head taller than Haruhi and their faces are entirely different, and Kaoru and I laugh ourselves stupid about it. 

He spends twenty minutes of club time throttling the twins and ignoring his clients while the rest of us just sort of look on. 

I make double the sales. 

Maybe it’s fight-watching snacks they’re buying?

Tamaki’s still pissy about it by the time we’re leaving, but the rest of us are only holding back our giggles for his pride’s sake. 

Rich people also apparently do jack shit for fun, so I’ve got an idea to cheer him up. 


	27. in which there is some musical debauchery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> KARAOKE BAR TIME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to kaz for eternal support and proofreading!
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads my work, i hope you enjoy it!
> 
> without further ado: the chapter!

“Hey, Tamaki, I know how to perk you up.”

We’re all just walking down to the courtyard, and everyone gives me a sort of “huh” look.

“Yeah, like what?”

“Have you ever been to a karaoke bar?”

“What’s that? Do commoners have their own alcohol?”

“You know what, I regret talking, you’re on your own.”

He flings himself at me and nearly knocks me down the stairs. 

“Nooooo, please! I’m sorry!”

“Ease up, you’ll kill me!”

“I’m sorry!”

He doesn’t let go, so I start trying to pry him off. 

“Tamaki! Let go!”

He finally does, and we all start off again.

Kaoru bumps me.

“Hey, what was your suggestion?”

“Oh! Yeah. Karaoke bars are just places that serve snacks, and you go there to sing with your friends.”

Hikaru bumps my other shoulder.

“So you were thinking we’d go to one?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a gig in the morning tomorrow, but we could go in the evening.”

Everyone else has been listening to us, and Kyoya knocks Hikaru out of the way to walk next to me. 

“I’ll go.”

Tamaki next.

“Me too!”

Then Honey, so Mori will accompany him. 

By the time we’re outside, everyone’s going. 

That’ll be interesting. 

I arrange to send them the details tomorrow and the other boys all head out. 

When I sit down to pull my skates on, Kyoya taps his right foot to my left. A kick, but an affectionate one. 

“So, rich boy, you any good at singing?”

“I’m decent, but I’m not as good as you.”

“Then I guess I’ll find out tomorrow, yeah?”

“I suppose so.”

He’s so stone-faced. 

“Give me a goodnight kiss.”

That pulls a smile out of him, and he kisses me like he’s afraid I’ll break. Like I’m made of glass. 

“Now one for good luck.”

He kisses me again. 

“Call me when you get home.”

“Of course.”

When I get home, Lexi’s bought takeaway pizza, and I reheat some of it while I talk to Kyoya. 

He gives me gossip on someone’s factory being sold, and I give him the dish on the couple the floor below us getting married in the mountains and asking us to take their mail for two weeks while they honeymoon. Not exactly a fair exchange of news, but it’s all I’ve got. 

After about thirty minutes, we hang up, and I launch into my weekend assignments. 

I think rich kids only go to school for fun: when I’m not prepping for a test, I only have an hour of homework. 

But since I’ll be seeing Kyoya tomorrow, I should get some designs done. 

I crack the window and stare out into the night.

It’ll be summertime soon. That’s an idea to work with.

Saturday is painfully hot, and I think I lose ten pounds in water weight hanging sheetrock at work. 

We keep at it through the afternoon too, so only on the way home from the sight can I call everyone up and tell them where to meet. 

The place we’re going is on the way to Lexi’s work, and I’m halfway afraid she’ll come by and pester us to death. 

When I unlock the door, though, she’s at the kitchen sink, drying the dishes. 

“Hey, kid.”

“Hey, Aunty. I’m going out tonight, if that’s okay.”

“Not like I’ll be home to stop you. Is it with that boy from last week?”

“Technically, yes, but-“

“Another date? You two are just the cutest, when can I meet him?”

“Lexi, lay off! It’s not a date, the rest of the club’s going too.”

“Whatever, whatever. I say it is.”

“I’m going to shower.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright. Love you.”

“Love you.”

By the time I’m out, she’s gone.

It’s too quiet when I’m alone, so I put a record on as I get dressed. 

We’re doing something I’m good at- singing. I wonder if they have movie soundtracks? 

I settle on a pair of low-rider jeans and a JetBlue T-shirt that used to be my cousin’s. Add a handful of rings, my necklaces, and patch jacket, then, since it’s close enough to walk instead of skate, my heeled boots. 

I don’t think I’m the original owner of anything I’m wearing except my boxers. 

James Lysander, captain of fashion!

I put my wallet, CD player, pack of fakes, and design book into my schoolbag and lock up behind myself. 

I run into Haruhi on the way- apparently we live within two blocks of each other. 

“So, James, what was your idea behind us hanging out? To be honest, I’d rather be home reading.”

“Well, me too, normally. But you don’t strike me as the sort of boy to put off your weekend homework, and they don’t assign a lot here.”

“You’ve got that right. It’s not like I was busy studying. I think they just go to school here to have fun.”

“I had that exact thought last night. Lucky fellows, to not try, huh?”

“For sure.”

There’s some idle chatter about the club girls after that, and when we get there, Tamaki and the twins are already inside, moronically trying to book a table. At least they got here early enough to get us a room?

I take over for them, although Hikaru slips me a metal debit card. Metal?

Fucking rich people. 

Honey and Mori show up next, and so Haruhi takes them all off towards our booth. 

I head back outside to wait for Kyoya.

When he does arrive, he looks distant.

“You’re late.”

There’s a sweetness to my voice that I didn’t know I had. 

“I know. Did I slow everyone down?”

“No. Shall we, Mr. Otoori?”

I offer him my hand, and he takes it. 

“I suppose we shall.”

We head back to the booth and open the door to Tamaki singing his soul out in French, very badly. 

Haruhi’s nodding along with him, and Honey seems enthused just to be there, but the twins are absolutely sobbing with silent laughter. 

I flop down next to Mori and shoot them both a look that somewhat sobers them up, and Kyoya very tidily sits down next to me. 

After Tamaki, Honey gives it a shot- I could’ve never expected him to be into American hyperpop. 

Haruhi makes a firm, polite decline to the singing, so the twins drag me up to the tiny stage. 

Might as well, right?

I spend a good minute flicking through the song catalog for something I recognize, to a very limited avail. 

They don’t have very many English songs, and what they do have is a lot older than what I know. They do, however, have “Rebel Rebel” by David Bowie, so I give a decent rendition. 

I toss the mic to Kaoru next, and he picks out a Japanese song from the 90’s, by a girl, about breaking up in the spring and getting a rebound for the summer. 

After that, we order drinks and Hikaru takes the stage. He’s significantly worse, and under the cover of his singing, I nudge Kyoya, who looks distant again.

“Hey. You alright, doll?”

His smile comes back, small and serene. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You should sing next.”

“Do I have to?”

Tamaki gives him a look from across the table.

“Absolutely. Club activity: everyone has to!”

Kyoya gives him the ‘you’re insufferable’ eye roll, but stands up and takes the mic from Hikaru when he’s done. 

He picks out an English song- one I recognize. 

“Killer Queen” with Freddie Mercury. 

He sounds really good, because of course he does, and I find myself hiding a smile behind one of my candy cigarettes. 

When he sits back down next to me, Tamaki decides we should order dinner before we keep singing, and we flick through the menus. 

I pull out my wallet and start counting out how much I’ve got left. Uncle paid me a full day’s work and bought me lunch today, so I can at least afford to buy for me and Kyo- Hikaru’s already pulling out a card. 

I do make a point of arguing I can pay for my own, but he laughs me off. Well, at least he’s rich enough for it. 

We order, and then Tamaki heads up to sing, very badly, again. Honey drags Mori up to the stage after him, and Mori tunelessly speaks through the backup lines to “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and The Waves, which leaves us all in hysterics. 

Then it’s my turn again, so I pick out the soundtrack from Heathers! and drag the twins up with me for “Candy Store”.

We genuinely can’t get through more than a sentence at a time without dissolving into giggles.

When I make a move to get off, they don’t let me, and since my only option to get down is violence, I let them pick me out another song. 

Kaoru wants me to sing in English, Hikaru in Japanese, and Haruhi cuts the gordian knot by choosing for them. 

“Hey, it’s got another English soundtrack on here. Have you ever heard of ‘Rent?’ It’s got a lot of options.”

“On a scale of 1-10, how do we feel about debauchery?”

“What?”

“I’m just saying this is a bit raunchy.”

Hikaru picks up his glass and twists around in his seat.

“What, worse than what we just did?”

“Some of it.”

Kaoru leans over his shoulder.

“Well, now you’ve got to do one.”

They’re insane.

“Fine, but you’re the one to blame for all this.”

I snatch my candy cigarette up off the table, pop the disc into the player and skip a few songs in, to: “Out Tonight.”

Well, if there’s one thing you learn around here, it’s to never do anything by halves. 

If they want raunchy, they’ll get it. 

The track starts up, and I let my jacket fall down my shoulders a bit. 

I don’t make any attempts to hide what I’m singing about- I don’t even think I look embarrassed.

“Get up! Life’s too quick, I know someplace sick!”

I drop my arms, and my jacket fully falls off me.

Quickly shove the mic back up to my mouth for:

“Where this chick’ll dance in the flames!”

The stage is maybe a foot and a half above the rest of the room.

“We don’t need any money- I always get in for free. You can get in too, if you get in with me, let’s go-“

I drop down to my knees, and push my jacket off the edge of the stage.

“-out tonight! I have to go out tonight!”

I jump back up to my feet and keep going.

“You wanna play? Let’s run away! Won’t be back before it’s New Years Day- take me out tonight!”

I don’t do anything like that for the rest of the song, but I also don’t attempt to tone down the lyrics.

Maybe they were right to think I was a whore. At least that goes over well with the host club. 


	28. in which there is an ice cream shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> commoner ice-cream shop visit and the rest of the weekend for kyoya and james!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen. ik the last two have been filler. it’s okay. you can say it. BUT! i’m still doing things with the plot. i have so much plot left. you don’t even KNOW. so. more twists to follow, as todays chapter is the final groundwork for now. 
> 
> now!
> 
> i’m sending this out a day early, but don’t worry, you’ll still get that shiny monday upload.
> 
> thank you to kaz, who has and will be thanked at the beginning of every chapter for putting up with my dumbassery!
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads my work, i hope you enjoy!
> 
> without further ado: the chapter!

When I finally finish the song, Honey immediately breaks into cheering.

Everyone breaks into applause after he does, except Kyoya.

Huh. 

“So how was I?”

Honey jumps onto me for a hug and knocks me over into the couch. 

“You were great, Jamie!”

I get an approving nod from Mori, then a “For sure!” and a “Hell yeah!” from the twins before Tamaki comes over and starts shaking me.

“You have to sing like that for the club!”

“Not a chance, Tamaki. No way.”

Puppy-dog eyes.

“Please? You did so good! That type of talent should be shared with the world!”

“First of all, those fake doe-eyes don’t work on me, secondly, no. And let go of me.”

“But we could do a whole-“

“Nope.”

I shove him off of me and turns to Kyoya.

“What did you think, rich boy?”

“You were fine.”

“What? C’mon, you’re not even looking at me.”

“You were fine. Haruhi, when will the food get he-”

I grab him by the face and force him to look at me.

“I asked you what you thought of it. Not how I did.”

I’m rewarded for that with a blush.

Attention! Success!

“I liked it.”

I let go of him.

“Thank you.”

He takes a minute to push his glasses back up, so I turn to Haruhi and Hikaru cuts me off. 

“What is this, a whore house?”

Haruhi and I start laughing, but Kaoru shuts it all down in an instant.

“You’re just angry you lost, now pay up.”

Huh?

“Do you guys run bets on me?”

“A little.”

“So what was that bet?”

“Kyoya over here would act all stony, and you would do something for his attention.”

“When do you even make these bets?”

Hikaru slaps a hand over Kaorus' mouth before he can answer.

“We use twin telepathy.”

“Fucking liars. Haruhi, when do you think the food will be here?”

“Well, I’d think soon. We didn’t order a lot.”

The waitress knocks on the door halfway through his sentence.

We thank her and start eating- it’s one of the places where you pay your tab at the door when you leave. 

Tamaki gets up to sing again while we eat, and I halfway choke to death laughing. Everyone else was smart enough to take tiny bites and NOT die. 

Nearly an hour and a few more rounds of music later, we’ve all gotten tired of singing, so we head up front to pay. 

After that, Honey starts persistently pulling on my arm and demanding we go get “Commoners sweets.”

“Maybe another time.”

“Please?”

I cast a look over everyone else.

“He’s not going to stop asking until I say yes, is he?”

A series of no’s, nope’s, and never’s. 

“Fine. We can go get ice cream, and then we need to go home, okay?”

He ignores me, and just starts jumping around. 

“Ice Cream! Ice Cream! Ice Cream! Ice Cream!”

“Alright then, alright! Let’s go, guys.”

I take Kyoya’s hand as we walk.

It’s a sweet moment despite everyone else sort of buzzing around us. 

The closest ice cream place is past my apartment again, but not as far as Haruhi’s- like a middle point between our houses. When we do finally get there, I send Haruhi down the line with Tamaki first so everyone else has an idea of what to do. 

Tamaki spends at least five minutes asking about every flavor they’ve got, then picks out melon ice cream and covers it in every topping they have. 

Haruhi genuinely attempts to order a plain chocolate cone, but Tamaki just about has a stroke and forces him to get rainbow sprinkles.

Honey buys an ENTIRE ice cream cake. For himself. As a snack. 

How does he stay so skinny?

Mori doesn’t get anything, just sort of supervises it all. 

Hikaru decides on mint ice cream in a waffle cone, but I hold Kaoru back when he moves up to pay. 

He made this face when Hikaru mentioned mint, like he didn’t want it, but didn’t know what else to say. 

“What do you want?”

“I’ll have the mint.”

“Are you sure?”

“What else would I get?”

“They’ve got a lot of flavors. Do you like coffee? Cookie dough?”

“A bit.”

I turn to the girl at the counter and order him a cup with a scoop of each, and he wanders down the line to the register. 

“So, Mr. Oto-“

“Did you just get him something different than Hikaru?”

“Yeah. And?”

“Nevermind. What were you about to say?”

“What do you want to get?”

“Nothing. I’m just here to accompany you all.”

“Shut up and get something, rich boy.”

He rolls his eyes, but he orders a vanilla soft-serve. 

I order a raspberry cone with white chocolate sauce, and then we get into a fight over who’s paying, but I manage to muscle past him and up to the register. 

“I’m rich, you moron, I can-“

“Shut up or I’ll kiss you!”

“What?”

“Take your ice cream and go out and stand with the others while I pay.”

“That’s not at all what you said.”

“And?”

He gives a very resigned sigh and does as I tell him. 

When I come out of the shop to meet them, Honey and Mori have already left. Something about Kendo and bedtimes.

Then, Kaoru and Hikaru get into their car and wave goodbye to the rest of us. Tamaki actually begs to walk Haruhi home and almost loses his ice cream in the process. 

Moron.

Kyoya, ever the gentleman, insists on walking me home. Not that I’m going to stop him. 

When we get to my apartment, we sit down on the steps and look out at the neighborhood while we eat. 

It’s late, but not as late as it was the other day- only about nine o’clock. 

“You wanna come inside? Lexi’s at work by now.”

“Is that impl-”

“Not a chance.”

“You’re the one who suggested it.”

“Shut up, rich boy.”

“No.”

“Then come inside and hang out with me.”

“If I must.”

But he’s smiling. 

It’s lucky I remembered to clean up before I left for work this morning- my room isn’t dirty, but it’s small, and I feel a bit self-conscious thinking of the apartment. His bedroom alone could fit two of my entire house. 

“Here, uh, I’ll show you my room, and then we could have tea or something- Mind your head!”

He doesn’t duck like I know to and nearly gets a concussion trying to go through the doorway to the hall. 

“You alright, doll?”

He gives me the stereotypical glasses push, and then:

“Yes. Now show me your bedroom, I want to see what commoner housing is like.”

“Moron.”

I slide open the door to my room and give it a once-over before I let him in. It’s small, and a lot of the walls and ceiling have been tacked-up with posters. My bed is made, but it’s only a twin. My windows are small and they don’t have very nice curtains- this used to be Lexi’s guest room, and I had to sew my own curtains out of bedsheets when I moved in. The record player next to my bed still has books piled in front of it. My desk is covered in papers, and earlier, when I got dressed, I left all my “rejected” outfits draped over the chair. 

“It’s nowhere near as big as yours, but this is my room.”

“It’s nicer than mine.”

“You need some new glasses. Quit lying just because you think it’ll spare my feelings.”

“I’m serious. This is way nicer than my bedroom. It’s got- how do you say- character. It looks like you care about it.”

Really? 

“I don’t know about nicer than yours, but I did spend a lot of time on it. I had my family send me all the pictures I had taped up at home, but I didn’t realize how many I had.”

“I like it.”

He flops down onto my bed like he lives here. 

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

He lays down on my pillow and puts his arms up behind his head, like he’s Huck-fucking-Finn. 

Insufferable. I like it. 

“I just might.”

“Whatever. Do you want tea?”

“No. I’m fine- but you should turn something on.”

“Do you like a specific type of music?”

“No. Just put something on.”

I do. 

“Scoot over, rich boy.”

He does, and I lay down. He’s still got my pillow, so I stretch out flat on the bed. I don’t mind it. 

He reaches down and grabs my hand. I let him.

“You’re sweet when you aren’t so fussy, Kyoya.”

“Shut up.”

I turn to look at him, and he glances over at me. 

“Never.”

“Fine, then. Kiss me stupid, see if I care.”

This idiot. 

“That feels more like a request than a challenge.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Then I guess I will.”

I lean up over him and do the stereotypical “arm next to your head” thing. He doesn’t smile, or blush, just looks up at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. 

And then I do kiss him stupid, and it’s wonderful. 

Maybe half an hour later, the cassette clicks off, and he sits up.

“I should go home.”

“I guess.”

“I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Good.”

I’ve got half a mind to ask him to stay a little longer, but I walk him to the door and kiss him goodbye.

He gets into his car and I wave at him as he rides off into the night. 

The next day, while we stretch before sparring, I take an extra look at Akito. He does have the same hair as Kyoya, and his eyes are very similar.

They’re an almost identical shape- like almonds- but his are a bit darker- Kyoya’s are closer to a hazel-brown, with bits of dark blue, while Akito’s are much closer to black, like a dappled beetle’s shell. 

Then there’s the nose: also similar in width, and they both start a little below the corners of the eye- lower than mine does. But where Kyoya’s is sharp and smooth as metal, Akito’s is a bit more rounded. Like a mushroom cap. 

The names must be a coincidence, then. 

“You alright? You’ve been making a face at the wall for a minute there- save the war poses for real bouts.”

“Ah, sorry. People have told me I look mean when I’m thinking.”

“Let’s get started, yeah? I have news.”

We start on blocks, and Akito tells me about a guy he met over the weekend- who runs a training center. He’s not even far off, only about a mile from the gym. 

After practice, we agree to meet up at the training center on Wednesday, a little later than normal to account for the extra distance I need to skate. 

When I get back home, I call Kyoya and we talk for an hour about nothing in particular. Just talking, with no point to it. It’s nice.

It feels comforting- not the talking, or the routine, but the everything of it- the feeling. The calm, the dusk, the cooking I’m doing, the sound of his pencil scratching- always studying for something. 

Soft. That’s the word. It feels soft. 


	29. in which there is pasta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOOONNGGG chapter 2day :)
> 
> thank you to kaz for endorsing my crack fic ideas and AGAIN for proofreading 
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads my work, i hope you enjoy!
> 
> without further ado: the chapter!

That library aide- Victor, with the undercut- found me a volume of traditional fairy tales from Japan in the storeroom, and when I pop by Library Room Three on Monday, he checks it out for me. 

Apparently, we like the same types of books. 

A new library friend. Cool!

It makes me think about that look Kyoya gave him the other day. Is there a secret I don’t know about there, or was Kyoya just being fussy like normal?

He was probably just worried. 

He’s sweet to do that. I think.

Later, we’re sitting on a couch after the club hours, reading- he’s stretched out at an angle with his legs crossed, and I, ever the pest, have put my head in his lap and am holding my book over myself. 

“What’re you staring up at?”

“My book, rich boy.”

“Are you sure you’re not looking at me?”

Is he teasing me? I can’t tell. 

“Kyoya, do you want a marriage proposal or something? What’s wrong?” 

“Shut up, moron.”

“Not a chance.”

Well, if he wants attention, he can have it.

I stand bolt upright and take off for the door with my bag in one fist.

“James. What the hell?”

“Back in a minute!”

I slide down the banisters, even managing to turn one of the corners without having to hop off. 

Then I bust through the doors to the courtyard- leave it to rich people to have giant, thornless rose bushes. 

They even have them in alternating color patterns. Aren’t roses codominant? How do the colors not mix when they pollinate? What a waste. 

Would Kyoya pick a pink rose? A white one? A normal red? I can’t decide, so I pull my pocketknife out of my bag’s side compartment and pick two of each. Then I head over to one of the little trees they have and snap off a few twigs that still have leaves. 

BAM! Thirty second bouquet. 

Easy, breezy, beautiful: Covergirl!

I think I still have a hair tie somewhere in my bag- that would make a good ribbon. I snap it on and start back towards the club room, taking the stairs three at a time. 

The door is still standing open, and I jump through it a little out of breath. 

Kyoya’s halfway across the room, peering out into the hallway where I was only a second ago. 

“James, what the fuck were you-“

“Ta-Da!”

I shove the bouquet out in front of me, towards him. I’m smiling like an idiot right now, and I can feel my blush rising. 

“What’s that?”

He doesn’t sound disgusted, or upset, more so curious.

“It’s a bouquet!”

“I know that much. What is it?”

“Just roses. And some leaves.”

“Okay, but why did you go bursting out of the room to get it?”

“It’s for you.”

He sets his jaw. 

“Why?”

“Because you’re my boyfriend! And I wanted to bring you flowers!”

“Is that- what we’re supposed to do?”

Do I _look_ like I know?

“I guess? I don’t know. Just take them.”

He walks over to me. For a long second, those searing eyes- painfully cold, sharp, and analytical- are pouring over me. He hasn’t looked at me like that since the first day we met. Like I’m a slab of meat, or a bar of gold. 

Kyoya’s looking for an ulterior motive. Or a price tag. 

He doesn’t find one. I don’t have an ulterior motive, except maybe wanting him to blush again. Or smile. 

“Fine.”

He snatches the flowers away from me. 

Is he angry at me?

No- he’s turning away from me, but I can see the tips of his ears going red.

The entire rest of the club has been watching this spectacle, and the twins send me a look that confirms what I know- he must be blushing. 

“Do you at least like them?”

There’s a series of glances between the twins, Haruhi, and Tamaki in the long silence that follows.

“Why do you ask?”

“I want to know so I can get you some again. Do you, or don’t you?”

Another pause, but this one’s shorter. 

“They’re alright.”

“You’re insufferable. Let’s go home.”

The irritable tension between us is thick enough to cut. Nobody’s talking, we’re all just walking out. Nobody really wants to be around a snarling Kyoya and a stone-faced me, so it’s just us in the courtyard after only a minute. 

We’re standing shoulder to shoulder, facing the gates. 

“What’s with giving me flowers, anyway?” 

This bastard. 

I snatch him up by the collar and turn him to look at me, which does get me a blush, but I don’t let myself be satisfied with that. 

“Now correct me if I am wrong, but NORMALLY when people are boyfriends, they do nice things for each other. If I want to give you flowers, I’m going to give you flowers. So shut up, take them, and kiss me!”

He’s got the bouquet in a white-knuckle grip in one hand. His jaw is gritting, grinding his teeth together. 

“Fine!”

I drop my fist down from his shirt, wrap one arm around his waist, pull him into me, cup a hand to his jaw, and kiss him. 

When he pulls off me, I yank him back towards me and kiss him again. Fuck this, fuck you, take your fucking flowers and fucking kiss me. 

When I let go of him, he’s still blushing. It’s sweet. 

“We good?”

“We’re good.”

“Good.”

I plop down on the fountain edge and start shoving my skates on. 

I’m sneaking a look up at him that he doesn’t notice- and he’s sort of picking at the bouquet, adjusting the flowers, smiling. 

Oh. Sky above. 

I clear my throat before I stand up, like a warning, then turn to look at him. 

“Well, that’s me gone.”

“Thank you for the flowers.”

Is he not used to all the niceties of a boyfriend?

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll text you when I get home.”

“But…”

“But what?”

“Don’t you normally ask for a good-luck kiss?”

Sky above and hell below me.

“Alright then-”

I pull him a step towards me by his belt loops. 

“Good luck kiss?”

“If I have to.”

I’m still smiling like an idiot when I get home, and Lexi looks up from her plate and tuts at me, then starts talking like a TV broadcaster. 

“Our headstrong hero is in the throes of young romance! This blossoming relationship-”

We both keel over laughing, but I flip her the bird anyway.

“Is that any way to treat your favorite aunty?”

“You’re not even properly my aunt!”

She points a fork at me like a threat.

“Our protagonist has forgotten his roots and respect!”

“Lexi!”

School on Tuesday is as normal (read: boring) as Monday was, but I do talk a bit more with Victor. He’s British- so that was the unplaceable accent- and his father has a major firm in Japan, which is why he’s here. 

He’s only a first year, but he’s not bad company. We’ve read a lot of the same stories. I’m almost late to class because we got distracted talking, and I pay for it dearly- Kyoya walks me to French class and starts asking questions about why I was late. 

“I was in the library.”

Sideways glare. 

“With whom?”

“A friend.”

Oh, okay, SCARIER sideways glare. 

“With whom?”

“That boy you made that snarly look at the other day- Victor. With the undercut.”

Less glare, more irritation.

“Why?”

“Oh my sky, you’re jealous of him.”

“What? No way.”

“You are! You’re all like-“

I stick my hand on my face to mimic his hair and push my glasses up.

“Oh, I’m Kyoya, I’m smart, I’m jealous of you making friends!”

“So you think I’m smart?”

“How is that what you took from this?”

“Whatever.”

We’re outside my classroom by now.

“I’ll see you at the club, rich boy.”

“Yeah, till then.”

I spend an incredibly boring French class wondering why the hell Kyoya would be jealous of Victor. Does he think I’m so loose I’d fuck the first man I make friends with or something? 

No, he must have more faith in me than that. So then what does he think I’m doing, past making a friend? 

Or does he just want me to himself?

“Monsieur Lysander, qu’est-ce que ton réponse?”

Fuck.

"Excusez-moi, Madame, qu’est-ce que la question?”

Madame Eckton makes a pinched off, lemony face at me.

“Conjuguer le verbe finir.”

I do, with needle-sharp accuracy, and she looks more upset about the fact that I got it right than the fact I wasn’t paying attention.

Lucky they don’t check you’re fluent in a language before you take the course- I’ve been breezing through French classes since 8th grade. 

The rest of the class passes without any more incidents, but I don’t bother listening. I’d much rather think of new cake designs, or books, or another date. I wonder if he’s ever been dancing- not ballroom dancing, but to a club. We wouldn’t be able to drink, naturally, but-

That’s the bell.

I get a lot of compliments on my designs for this week at the club: coconut-vanilla with swirling greens and blues, like leaves and water, a cinnamon-chocolate with icing sunbursts, and pineapple upside-down cake. 

Not that anyone knows they’re my designs. 

“Lysander, these are so pretty! Where do you buy them?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Miss Sugimoto. I’ve met the catering team, but I don’t know what company they work for or anything. That’d be a question for Kyoya.”

“Thank you then, I’ll ask him after the appointments are done.”

Beaming smile.

“I’m certain he’d love to talk with such a beautiful young lady.”

She swoons a bit, and I move on. 

After all the girls have left, I kick back on a couch and flick open my workbook. I’m noticeably further along by now- maybe the ⅔ mark?

“Hey, James.”

“Yeah, chéri?”

Quick pause, then:

“Nevermind.”

“What? Is it the name?”

“No, just forget it.”

“Dammit, come here.”

I don’t look up from my workbook until, with a heavy sigh, he’s stood up and walked over to see me.

Then I grab him by the tie and pull him down to my level.

“Kiss me, moron.”

He does, just once, very quickly.

I keep a hold on his tie and kiss him again, longer, threading my fingers through his hair a bit, earnestly, honestly.

Hikaru looks up from a handheld video game that’s probably not even accessible to the general public yet.

“WHORE HOUSE! WHORE HOUSE, WHORE HOUSE!”

I start laughing, even as Kyoya fixes him with a death-glare. 

“No, Hikaru. Not a whore house. A whore _home_.”

Everyone breaks into giggles at my comment except for Mori and Kyoya.

At least Mori smiles- why did I start going steady with such a stone-faced gajillionaire?

I mean, I know why. It was the way he blushed. And the dancing. And the lengths I would have to go for his smiles. But still. What an insufferably endearing toad. 

“Whatever.”

He looks distant- not the normal untouchable mask, but distant, like he’s thinking about something else. I make a mental note to ask him about what’s wrong later, because I have a feeling it was something about what he was going to ask me just now. 

Whatever- Japanese practice time. 

When we do finally get ready to leave, he’s carrying his bag in his right hand, and I carry mine in my left. So, subtly, imperceptibly, I take his hand as we walk. 

He cuts his eyes over at me a second, and I move to let go, but he holds on tighter. 

Once everyone’s left the courtyard and it’s us by the gates again, I turn to him a bit. 

“Hey, what were you going to ask me earlier?”

“It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that. What was it?”

“My father’s got a business meeting again.”

“What, at the house?”

“Yeah. That was all.”

But that’s not a question? What could he have- 

“Well, if you want to come over and eat with me, we could do that. Or study.”

I think that was what he wanted to ask, but he was afraid to say it. 

Kyoya gives me a light, fake laugh. 

“No, no. That’s just what I was thinking about. I don’t want to intrude.”

“Well then, if I were to request that you escort me safely home, it would be rude to reject hospitality once we’re there, yes?”

“Technically.”

“Then I request an escort to the supermarket, and then an escort home.”

“Why the supermarket?”

“I’m going to make manicotti for dinner, in case of a surprise guest.”

He laughs again, but this time it’s real- he doesn’t even hide it. Not that he can, because he’s still got his bag in his left hand, and I’m holding on to his right. 

“Well, it would be rude to neglect a club member’s request. So-”

He drops my hand, steps back, and bows to me. 

“Shall we, Mr. Lysander?”

I throw my bag strap over my shoulder and take his arm. 

“We shall, Monsieur Otoori.” 

We’re probably one hell of a sight, dressed like this. 

He’s got on a uniform that costs more money than sin, and both of us are extortionately more dressed up than any school uniform around here. 

I should’ve guessed taking Kyoya into a normal supermarket would be a shock for him. He just stops dead in the doorway, looking, and I have to drag him over to pick up a shopping basket. 

Then he spends a good five minutes staring at the couponing ads while I try to buy noodles, and when we finally have the ingredients and start to check out, he goes bug-eyed at how the cash register works. At least he insists on paying for it.

Manicotti isn’t actually that hard to make, but it’s the fanciest-looking thing I know to prepare that isn’t a dessert. It’s tube-shaped pasta, stuffed with ricotta and spinach, sometimes veal or beef, then baked. 

That and a salad ought to be a decent meal for both of us. I hope. 

On the walk home, my phone starts having a fucking seizure in my back pocket- it’s Lexi. I’m not going to hear the end of this. 

“Hey, aunty.”

“Where the hell are you?”

She doesn’t sound frightened, or angry, just curious. 

“I am walking home from the store _._ ”

“Alright, I’m going- why did you go to the supermarket?”

“Reasons. I wanted to make manicotti for dinner.”

A pause, where I think she makes a connection.

“And why did you want to make manicotti?”

I look over at Kyoya, who’s smirking at me. Bastard. 

“No reason, just got hungry.”

“But all of a sudden you’re not content with sandwiches? I say you’re not telling me something.”

“Lexi, you’ll be late for work.”

“No I won’t, I’m halfway there now.”

It’s very, very lucky her job is in the opposite direction.

“Alright, fine, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“If you’re bringing that boyfriend of yours around and I find out you had sex in my kitchen-”

“Goodbye! Goodbye, you senile hag! Goodnight!”

I mash the phone off, and Kyoya starts laughing in earnest.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Only the ending part.”

“Ah, so only the funny part.”

“Your aunt’s quite a character.”

“Wait. When did you meet her?”

“She came around before you woke up, remember? When you were sick.”

“Oh, yeah.”

We walk in silence for a moment before a detail comes flying out of the fevered haze of that night and lodges straight in the front of my brain.

Someone kissed me on the forehead after I went back to sleep. I had assumed that was Lexi until now, but if she only came around while I was knocked out the first time, then that couldn’t have been her. 

So it was-

It was Kyoya.

“You kissed me!”

He looks entirely confused.

“What?”

“When I was sick! If you sent Lexi away before I woke up that night, then while I was asleep that second time, you kissed me!”

There’s a beat of quiet, and he starts going a little red. 

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did! On my forehead!”

“No, I didn’t.”

I could fight him on this, or I could kiss him and he’d shut up. 

Easy answer.

I yank him towards me by the front of his shirt and kiss him. His lips are on mine for a long moment, then, sweet and stupid and breathless, I let go of him.

“Do I look like I’m complaining about it?”

He smiles, the real one, all serene. 

“Come on, moron, I’m supposed to be walking you home.”

“If you insist, Chéri.”

When we get there, I plunk the groceries on the counter and start to take off my boots. By the time I shove those off and start washing up, Kyoya’s standing on the step up into the kitchen, with his shoes put away in the bench, clutching his bag to his chest. 

“You can go sit down and start your homework or something, this’ll take a while.”

“You don’t want help?”

“Depends, is that an offer?”

“Yes.”

“Then sure.”

I toss him Lexi’s apron, then turn back to the kitchen. 


	30. in which there is only one bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to kaz for proofreading and being swag. also for enabling my crack goth/bimbo fic. moving on!
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads my work, i hope you enjoy! 
> 
> without further ado: the chapter!

I should have expected this, but Kyoya is abysmal at cooking, and a danger to himself and others when he’s got a knife. 

I had put him in charge of the salad after I set the pasta on to boil and went to change out of my school clothes. When I come back from my room, in baggy jeans, a T-shirt, and a minimizer, he’s apparently already cut himself. 

“Kyoya, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Chéri, you’re bleeding on the lettuce.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Even if you were, I’m not eating a blood salad.”

I pick up a box of multicolor bandaids and toss them at him- we keep a pack on the kitchen windowsill for these things.

He puts the knife down to catch it, then steps away from the counter to wrap his finger up.

“Okay, change in plans, rich boy. You can watch the pasta boil, and I will do the salad and the filling.”

“My job is to watch boiling water.”

“Yes. Don’t burn yourself.”

“I can do more than that, you know.”

“Mhm. Have you ever made a meal by yourself?”

“Technically, no.”

“Then I don’t want you to get hurt, so you will make sure the pot doesn’t boil over.”

I pluck my apron off the hook and start tying it on. 

“Just let me do the salad.”

“No. You’ll cut yourself.”

“I’m doing the salad.”

“You and what army, darling?”

“Please?”

I hesitate, but I don’t stop from where I’m prepping the salad. 

“Was that _the_ Kyoya asking me please?”

“I’m not ‘the’ anything, but yes.”

Insufferable.

“Come over here and I’ll show you.”

I spend three minutes teaching him how to curl his fingers back and chop lettuce. He moves on to coring tomatoes by himself, and I strain the pasta tubes. I grease a baking dish, then start mixing up the cheese filling. We don’t have any spinach, but we’re already having salad, so I put some of the ground beef left over from when Lexi made chilli in the oven to warm up instead.

After that, it’s just a matter of stuffing the pasta tubes. Kyoya finished the salad, and now he’s standing very awkwardly behind me, watching me. 

“You should go change out of your school clothes.”

“And into what? I don’t exactly have clothes here.”

“You could borrow something of mine.”

“No, I’m alright.”

“Are you staying over to study?”

“If I’m invited to, then sure.”

“Okay, so go change out of your uniform.”

“I don’t have any clothes here.”

“You can wear something of mine.”

“Like what?”

Okay, well, if he’s asking me, I’m going to intentionally put him in clothes I know are too big for him. Mind you, all my clothes are too big for him- I’m not exactly _slender_ , or whatever, and while I’m muscular, it’s not like I’m chiseled. 

“C’mon, I’ll find you something.”

He ends up in a pair of my old basketball shorts that kind of fit him, if you cinch the waist, and one of my sweatshirts that is entirely too wide-necked for him.

He is quite literally drowning in fabric. 

Kyoya looks very, very confused by the entire existence of clothes that don’t fit him. 

“You alright, rich boy?”

He awkwardly wobbles a sleeve.

“I’m fine.”

“Then I have cooking to do.”

He leans against the wall and watches me finish prepping the manicotti. It feels like a very friendly kitchen inspection. 

Once that’s in the oven I start on washing the dishes. Kyoya actually offers to dry them before he puts them on the dish-drainer. 

It’s a very confusing, endearing moment, this boy who I haven’t seen act selfless for someone else asking to help me cook and offering to dry my dishes. 

It also doesn’t hurt that he had to cuff up the sleeves of my sweater, and the neckline is too big on him- it’s tilted to one side, exposing his collarbone. 

After that, I toss a cheesecloth over the salad, and we head to my room to start our homework. 

I pull a pillow off my bed for Kyoya to sit on, then plop down on the floor next to him. I’ve only got one pillow, so the floor is stupidly uncomfortable, but I stretch myself out with my math textbook. 

Same as last time, we split the work. I’m awful at math, but I do alright, and a couple times our fingers bump turning pages. After that, we move on to Japanese- more verbs- and then Literature before the kitchen timer rings. 

I pour us mugs of juice and plate up dinner as he grabs us utensils. 

He looks sweet like this. 

I pass by him on my way back to the kitchen for our mugs, and I press a kiss to his cheek. 

Kyoya Otoori could be with any boy he wanted to, but he’s in my kitchen, in my clothes, smiling when I kiss him. 

After I pray and we start eating, he lets me carry the conversation a while. I talk about skating, and Lexi going out for drinks with Riley all the time, and books, and boxing. He perks up a little when I talk about Akito, but he relaxes a second later. 

Is it jealousy, or curiosity? 

I don’t know. 

He starts talking a bit more after that: budgeting and architecture and the club. I even manage to pry a story out of him- Tamaki, when he first came to Ouran in middle school, made Kyoya tour the temples with him in Kyoto- and fell down a flight of stairs. And then he fell into a fountain 20 minutes later when they went back into the more urban part of the city for a doctor. 

Once we’re done eating, I put our dishes in the sink, but don’t wash them. Lexi can have her confirmation that I had Kyoya over, but she also has to wash the dishes when she comes in from work. Balance.

He should be going home, but I’m not making him. We retreat to my bedroom, and he flops onto my bed with his German notes and a laptop. 

“What’s with the computer?”

“I need to balance the tabs from today.”

“I thought you did that already? Today, after club?”

“No, I had to send some business emails- we’ll be receiving new tea sets tomorrow.”

He pops open the laptop and starts clacking.

My pillow’s still on the floor, so I crack my French workbook open on the bed and kneel on the pillow facing it. 

Madame Eckton assigns work by the week, and since I’m coming in so late tomorrow night, I decide to finish the rest of the worksheets. 

Our Literature teacher doesn’t assign on a weekly basis, but she does assign us almost the same thing every night, so I read a couple chapters ahead. 

Math is gonna be a real bitch picnic- we have a quiz tomorrow. On the other hand, if we have a quiz, no math homework. That’s all I can do, then. 

What time is it, anyway?

11:08.

Sky above me, it’s that late already?

I sneak a look up at Kyoya, who’s still working, but he seems tired. 

I’m not interrupting him just to make him go home. 

Might as well pack the gym bag for tomorrow, then. I can’t go to sleep till he leaves. 

After I pack, he’s still working, this time pouring over a textbook and what I think is an essay with a red pen, but he looks absolutely shot. 

After that, there’s not much else I can do, so I start looking around for something to keep my hands busy. 

Kyoya’s uniform is draped over the top of my clothes rack, so I take a minute and carefully hang it up. He’s still completely engrossed in his work. And I want to go to sleep. 

I repack my schoolbag for tomorrow, then grab my pajama bottoms and head off towards the bathroom to change. 

I normally sleep shirtless, but I do consider putting one on for Kyoya’s comfort- on the other hand, he walked around shirtless in front of me, and the minimizer isn’t exactly showy, the whole point is to hide and reduce cleavage. I’ll go in, and if he looks at me weird, I’ll put a shirt on.

I finish getting ready for bed, then head back towards my room, fully expecting to start grabbing for a hoodie, but I don’t even get the chance. 

Kyoya’s asleep. 

Head back against the wall, book still open on his lap, fully asleep. 

I wave my hand back and forth in front of his face, then snap a couple times, but he stays still.

Well, I guess he’s spending the night. 

I take his books and computer off his lap, stack his things up by his bag, and dust off the pillow I was sitting on. 

The next maneuver is tricky: I lift him up in one arm, pull the covers out from under him, tuck him in, and prop the pillow beneath his head. This shirt is still too big on him. 

I set his glasses on the desk, then pull some blankets out from under my bed. I make myself a pallet on the floor and wrap the top blanket around me. 

I don’t have a pillow, but I’ve slept on the floor a lot of times at sleepovers. I yank a stuffed tiger from the pile at the end of my bed. Bam, pillow! 

I set the alarm clock, snap off the lamp, and fall into dreams.

When I wake up on Wednesday, it takes me a long moment to realize where I am and why I’m on the floor.

Well, we’ve got a lot of fucking walking to do, so there’s no time to waste. 

I brush my teeth, wash my face, and put some water on to boil- poached eggs are always a good breakfast. 

Then I head back to my room to wake Kyoya. 

I start folding the blankets I slept on up.

“Hey. Rich boy.”

He doesn’t stir.

“Hey. Kyoya!”

Nothing.

“Chéri, wake up. We have to go to school.”

Still very asleep. 

I slide the blankets back into the bin under my bed and start shaking him.

“Kyoya, darling, wake up. We have to leave.”

He turns away from me.

“Kyoya! Up! Get up, we’ve got school.”

His face is buried in the pillow, and he gives me a disgruntled:

“HHmmPh.”

And he pulls away from me again. 

“Chéri, we have to walk to school. We need to go.”

“MMMhhmPh.”

If we keep up like this, we’ll be late. 

Alright, change of plans.

I yank the covers off him, ignoring his indignant:

“Sano. Lemme go!”

He even kicks his feet a little, like a child. 

Then I pick him up, bridal style, and just start walking out of my room towards the kitchen.

“James?”

“Good morning.”

He sounds almost angry at me.

“Why am I at your house?”

“You fell asleep. I wasn’t going to wake you up just to kick you out again, it was late. So now, we need to eat and start walking, because if we skate it, one of us will probably die.”

“Why are you carrying me?”

“You’re not exactly easy to wake up.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I set him down in the dining room and go to the kitchen again.

“I hope you like poached eggs. I don’t have much else.”

“It’s fine.”

He sits down at the table, tapping his fingers, rubbing his eyes, waking up. 

I put two pieces of toast in and pour us both juice while the eggs cook. I click on the radio as well, and start listening to the headlines. Something about stock markets, and space programs, and then the weather reports. It’ll be just as hot today as it has been- I think that rain was the last cold weather of the season. 

I plunk a plate down in front of him, then start for my room.

“Kyoya, I’m gonna go get dressed. Start eating, alright? And then I’ll find you a toothbrush, or whatever.”

He gives me a nod and tucks into his food. 

Once I’m dressed, I haul my bookbag and gym bag into the dining room and set them down.

He’s finished eating by now. 

“Go get dressed.”

He stands up obediently, and when he walks past me towards my room, I kiss him. 

“Good morning, chéri.”

That tiny, serene smile.

“Good morning.”

Once both of us are dressed and ready- although Kyoya’s still fighting his bedhead- I grab my lunchbox, and we start off for school. 

It’s a long walk, and after the first block, my hand finds his. 

We don’t talk. We don’t listen to music or anything. It’s just us and the city, waking up for the day. I’m rubbing my thumb across the back of his hand, and it feels more intimate than kissing him- more personal. 

About a block away from the gates, Kyoya lifts his hand away from mine. I understand why, but it sends a little pang of longing through me.

We are still a block away from the gates, though, so when I ask him to kiss me, he smiles that tiny smile, and does. 

We walk into the courtyard together, leaving room, as my mother would say, for the holy ghost. Tamaki comes bounding up to meet us, and the three of us are collectively subjected to the stares of every girl we pass as we march off to homeroom. 

It’s not until French class that afternoon that a painful thought comes hurtling out of the fog in my brain. 

Kyoya was at my house, all night. He didn’t call home, and nobody called to find out where he was. 

Nobody bothered to ask about him. 

I understand that his father was busy, and he’s expected to make himself scarce when that’s happening, but to completely ignore, to never worry…

How could anyone act as though such a remarkable boy is commonplace- and even if he wasn’t as perfect as he is, to not think of your own son, all night. Or even at breakfast, when he was undoubtedly missing.

I would ask him about it- but I don’t want to upset him. If he wants to come over, ever, any time, I’ll let him. Better to be with non-family who cares about you than “real” family who doesn’t. 

I carry all the things I’m thinking about around for the rest of the day. 

I make an extra point to kiss Kyoya’s hand as I say goodbye to the other boys. Mori gives me a firm, analytical look. The third years seem to figure everything out without trying. 

I promise Kyoya I’ll call him when I get out of practice, wave goodbye to them all one more time, and start off for the training center. 


	31. in which there is a training center

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY TWINKS
> 
> thank you kaz for proofreading 
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads my work, i hope you enjoy!
> 
> without further ado: the chapter!

It’s about a thousand degrees in my school binder, and once I get to the training center, I’m sweating like a whore in church. I pull off my skates and stick them in my bag, then wobble in. 

“Hey, James!”

Akito’s standing with a heavily muscled guy who’s a full head shorter than me, currently scribbling on a clipboard. 

“Akito!”

He beckons me over to where he’s standing, and the clipboard guy gives me a nod. 

“So what’s up? Where do we, like, sign in? Or pay?”

He rolls his shoulders a bit. 

“Well, the issue is, to practice here, you need a trainer. They’ve got areas to train, but since you’re a minor- you did say you were in high school, yeah?”

“I’m 16 and a second-year.”

“Yeah, so you are. Well, you can’t practice here without an adult.”

Damn. Just when I was getting excited. 

“Well, that’s the end of the line for me.”

“Not necessarily.”

“No, it is. I can’t afford a trainer.”

“Not necessarily- like I said, you really impressed me the other day, especially for never having a teacher. I could sign up as your trainer.”

“I can’t pay you.” 

“Yeah, but I can _more_ than afford the practice spaces here. Plus, you’re the closest person to my age that I’ve ever seen practice bare knuckle: also the only person I’ve ever seen fight like that at all, except myself. It’d be fun to teach you.”

He put one hell of an emphasis on that “more.”

“You really mean you’d teach me?”

“I don’t have anything better to do.”

“For real?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

A real practice space. With other people! 

“Thank you so much!”

“So that’s a yes?”

“For sure!”

“Go get changed and we’ll start.”

Angelic, angelic benefactor! 

Three cheers for Akito! 

Clipboard guy points me towards the locker rooms, and I’m immensely and intensely relieved to find they have private changing stalls. 

I change into my swim binder and gym clothes, then head out towards the main room, wrapping my hands as I go. 

Akito beckons me over to a teardrop-shaped swinging bag, and starts me on a warm-up drill with it. Then he goes back to talking with the clipboard guy. 

So, a trainer. This is interesting. 

After that, Akito comes over and adjusts how I’m standing, and makes me run the drill again. Apparently I’m not bad at it, so he has me stretch, then start a plank while he gets ready to have me practice blocks. He takes a really long fucking time, and my stomach kind of hurts by the time he’s changed clothes and gotten a reflex bag out. 

“James!”

I drop the plank and jump to my feet.

He gives me a firm nod, then beckons me over. 

He runs me through a set, then has me start on pull-ups. Didn’t expect him to be so business-y about it, but it’s not a bad time.

Akito has me do another few drills with a hanging bag, and then it’s time to go, so we arrange to meet back up on Friday, and he promises me the two of us can have an actual sparring session. 

I thank him a few more times, lock my gym bag up in the changing rooms for later, and start towards home. 

I am desperately fucking hungry and crazy tired, so I put the leftover pan of manicotti in to warm while I shower. When I come back out of the bathroom, towel over my shoulders, I slap together a sandwich, cut up some carrot sticks, and plate up the manicotti with it. 

I pull out my homework, eat dinner with a fork in one hand and a pencil in the other, and collapse into sleep.   
  


I can totally feel yesterday’s workout in my core as I eat breakfast. Ow. Ow. Abs are so not worth it. 

I mention boxing practice to the club girls by accident, and they have a field day asking me to flex for them. 

Are the girls at this school just clinically horny?

I do get the feeling of Kyoya’s eyes on me while I’m showing off, though. Alright, I don’t mind them poking at me anymore. 

Kaoru comes up and taps me while I’m doing my Japanese practice. 

“Hey, James. Do you have any more weekend ideas for the rest of us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, last weekend we went to that-“

He gives me air quotes.

“karaoke place. So what’s the plan this weekend?”

“Oh. Well, I think I have work Saturday, and I’ve got another boxing practice Friday night. Akito and I found a real training center, so tomorrow we’re going to spar!”

Kyoya perks up when I mention fighting.

“Fighting? Are you sure that’s safe?”

“Chéri, the whole point of a fight is that it’s unsafe. But it’s not like I’ll be getting any brain trauma or anything.”

Kaoru cuts Kyoya off before he can start protesting. 

“Can we come see you after the practice, then?”

“Are you sure? It’ll be quite late.”

Tamaki flops over on the couch across from me.

“I want to see a proper boxing match! I am making it a mandatory club activity- we will all go to watch you fight!”

“Tamaki, please don’t. I don’t even think that’s allowed. It’s just a practice match with my trainer, really.”

“I want to see you fight! We are going.”

There’s not going to be any convincing him without an absolute mutiny from the other boys, and they all look pretty engaged. Damn. 

I give out one last sigh before I resign myself to this disaster in the making.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He genuinely cheers, like a child. 

I flop over into Kyoya’s lap.

“Chéri, you have to go with them so that they have at least one sane person.”

“Alright, _étoile_.”

Star. He called me a star.

I’m sure I look stupid as a schoolboy right now, big, dopey-looking eyes, cheeks going hot with blush.

I lean up a bit and kiss him.

When he pulls away, he smiles.

“Your accent is terrible.”

He kisses me again, probably to shut me up. I let him. 

Hikaru makes a noise of distaste, but I keep Kyoya’s lips on mine and flip him off. 

If I want to lavish a boy this sweet with my affection, I will, and the rest of them can deal with it. 

When we finally, actually pull apart, Haruhi is giving us the “are-you-fucking-kidding” look of a LIFETIME.

Kyoya seems not to notice, but I have questions. 

“Haruhi, why are you staring at us like that?”

“I haven’t ever seen Kyoya actually smile like that- normally he looks like some soulless accountant. Especially when these idiots first made me join.”

Haruhi is apparently not one to sugarcoat things. 

Also apparently, it means Kyoya only smiles his real smile for me, and it’s enough to make me feel all warm and sunshine-y in my chest. 

I push up off him and turn to properly face Haruhi. 

“You mean he only acts all bubbly around me?”

“I wouldn’t call him bubbly, but yes.”

I look back over at Kyoya, who pushes up his glasses, sets his jaw, and starts typing like hell on his laptop. He even manages to balance the computer on the couch armrests, so he can turn away from me a little.

“Awww! Chéri!”

He flicks me in the forehead, and I pretend to fall over.

Kyoya Otoori is soft for me. And, apparently, only me. 

When I’m skating home, my phone starts buzzing- Akito! Benefactor! 

“Go for James.”

“Hey, it’s Akito. I think I’ve got some good news for you.”

“Like what?”

“You remember the guy from yesterday? With the clipboard?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm. Well, he’s got a nephew from another prefecture who’s come to visit, and the nephew practices the same style we do.”

“So?”

“That nephew of his would like to run a match with you tomorrow.”

“Really? Like a proper fight?”

“Not really. But it’s good practice to go up against a new person as often as you can.”

“Oh! Great timing on the call. My friends want to come and get me after the match. I really did try and tell them not to, but Tamaki really hates taking no for an answer and he roped everyone else into it, and- Okay, getting to the point, would there be a place for them to stand?”

“Yeah, the ring you’ll be practicing in is in a different room. They can stand along the wall.”

“Thank you, Akito!”

“No problem. I’ll see you tomorrow at ten after six- tell your friends not to come until 7:30.”

“I will. Thank you for teaching me all this.”

“It’s no issue, really. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright. Goodbye Akito!”

“Goodbye.” 

When I get home, Lexi gives me a bug-eye look and asks me what the fuck happened to the rest of the manicotti, then laughs herself silly when I tell her I ate the entire thing. 

I tell her about my fake-match tomorrow, and she writes it down on the whiteboard. Lexi wouldn’t have been in anyway; Riley is taking her out to get dinner, but she still won’t say it’s a date. Why is every lesbian unable to recognize romance?

I stop by the corner store a block down on Friday morning, and buy myself a treat to eat with lunch- strawberry soda. 

I eat in the library with Victor instead of in the clock tower like normal, and he talks almost non-stop. He also doesn’t ever take his hand off his book cart. At some point, he realizes I’m in the host club, and starts talking about how he’s seen the girls fall all over themselves in the halls for the other hosts. 

“...I mean, naturally I can’t blame them. That lot-“

He makes a face like he’s said too much.

I switch back to English.

“Victor, are you?”

I let the question linger, and he casts an analytical look over his glasses at me. 

“Are you?”

“Maybe. Are you?”

We’re whispering.

“Yes. So are you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh! Look at us!”

“You know, you could stop by the club on Monday and see the boys at work firsthand.”

He blushes a little.

“Oh, no, I really shouldn’t. Would they even be alright with that?”

“Victor, darling, the Hitachiin boys pretend that they fuck. You will definitely not be the most extreme thing anyone sees around there.”

The flush spreads down his neck.

“They what?”

“It’s pretend, I swear. The girls around here are insane.”

“Well, I suppose they wouldn’t do too badly if a boy came around then, yeah?”

“I’m telling you, you’d get your pick of them. In all honesty, you might draw in more guests.”

“I suppose, in the interest of commerce, I can swing by on Monday.”

“Sure, sure. Commerce.”

I don’t tell Kyoya that Victor will be coming by. He’d probably get jealous. Not that it isn’t cute. 

At the break between slots, I jot down the address for the training center and lecture everyone about proper behavior at the gym.

Once the second time slot ends, I pull a protein bar out and start skating to the training center. 

I also realize that I entirely forget to bring my lunchbox with me when I go to put my schoolbag up. Damn. 

I’ll figure something out. 

Akito has me stretch, then start a couple drills- mainly blocks. I have a feeling he isn’t expecting me to win this, but I’m almost ridiculously excited. 

Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!

Akito then proceeds to beat the hell out of my defenses with a blocking pad. “As preparation.”

Thanks, Akito. 

A little after 7:20, he leads me through a door at the back of the main room, which is empty except for an elevated ring, a folding table, and some chairs. There we meet clipboard guy- Fujita- and his nephew- Matsukaze. 

Matsukaze is a bit skinnier than me, but he’s also a full head taller, more defined, and two years older, so I’m not exactly at ease with his weight. 

Fujita goes over the base rules: we’re doing three 3-minute matches, like the proper 3-3 bouts you get in real amateur fights. 

We’re not doing normal corners, though: Fujita and Akito are just sort of going to yell criticism at us during the match and tell us what to do better in the breaks between rounds.

Fujita also suggests that we skip normal scoring rules and stick to knockdowns instead of eight-counts, although he promises to step in if anyone looks to be in actual danger. 

Knockdowns mean that I’ll not only have to keep my defense up, I’ll have to beat Matsukaze down to the floor. Terrifying. 

I ask for an extra minute to put my brace on. No below-the-belt hits are allowed, but I would absolutely kill myself if I let Matsukaze get a point in because of my broken-ass knees. 

While I’m tugging it on, I take the chance to check the time on a digital clock built into the wall. 7:29. 

I wonder where the boys are. I thought they’d be here by now, but it’s probably for the best that they miss it. 

I honestly don’t want them to see me get beaten down. They would worry me about it for an eternity.


	32. in which there are hooks in the sense of punches and hooks in the sense of plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry i left for a week i’m in someones garage lol
> 
> anyway thank u kaz for proofreading ily bestie
> 
> thank you to anyone who reads my work i hope you enjoy the update!
> 
> and without further ado: the chapter!

We step into the ring and shake hands. 

Fujita starts a stopwatch and rings a tiny alarm bell.

Everything slows down into motions I’ve seen before, like dancing. 

Matsukaze immediately hits the offense, backing me towards the ropes. He must have been hyped up to beat me, but I’m not letting him get one in that easy. 

He lands a long barrage of punches on my block, but I keep pushing to the side, then make one swift movement over to the left and land a jab to the side of his face. 

Now, I’ve got him on the defenses. He has to pivot so his blocks are facing me again, and I keep my shoulders tight and jab-walk him backwards. He throws a hook at me that more than hits, but I can take a punch, so while his guard’s down, I slam a fist into his jaw. 

His arm’s still pulling back from the hit he got on me, so I make a risky move- duck, and slam my other fist into his shoulder. Matsukaze staggers back a little and then pulls the smart move: putting his defense back up and pressing away from me. 

I should fall back and sort of reset the stage, but the feeling of having a boy with so much more training and experience than me on the run makes me keep on. 

He’s on his defense, but I’m still crouched, so I come about halfway up and launch a fist into the middle of his chest- not quite the solar plexus, but that shit’s going to hurt regardless. 

And Matsukaze- falls.

He falls?

A knockout?

Fujita cuts in and sends us back to our starting positions. 

I got a point?

“Akito! Akito, I got a point!”

“Good job, now keep your focus!”

“He’s twice my skill, and I got a point!”

“Focus!”

Fujita starts the rest of the round, and this time, Matsukaze is much more defensive. I’m absolutely not about to go in headfirst with that, not even with a point under my belt, so I bait him into going offensive again. 

Once he does, we reach a sort of equilibrium in the middle of the ring, landing hits, sometimes stepping forward or pressing back, but we just sort of rotate till Fujita rings the bell again. 

Akito beckons me over to the side and coaches me on my blocks and hits for a few minutes. Apparently, just because I can take a hit doesn’t mean I should- I have to keep my guard higher. 

Then, Fujita has us get into position, and I smile at Matsukaze through my mouthguard. He does not smile back. 

The round starts, and he forces me back into the corner. There’s nowhere for me to get from there.

He’s hitting punch after punch into my shoulders and arms, even as I bob the best I can. The only thing I can genuinely think to do would get me disqualified, so I try to stall it out.

Then, he sends a hit, fast and heavy, towards my face, so I forget rules and techniques and let myself behave on instinct.

I drop into a crouch, grab his fist at the apex of his swing over me, and shove him backwards with all the force in my body. I even stand up, springboarding him away from me. 

Matsukaze was smart enough not to set his knees forward, so while he staggers back, giving me a chance to circle around and pull myself together, he doesn’t fall. 

Damn. That could’ve been another point- but the opportunity isn’t over. I launch a fist into his right shoulder just as he strikes out for my jaw, both of us unstable. 

We hit in unison, and then both fall backwards onto the floor as the buzzer rings. 

Since we both fell, we both get a point. I’m 2-1 on a boy who’s taller and older than me. I feel almost giddy.

“Akito! Akito, did you see me? He had me all in the corner, and he was like  _ wa-bam,  _ and  _ pow,  _ and then I pushed his fist, and-”

“Keep yourself focused, James!”

We get ready to start the third round, and the boys still aren’t here. I almost wish they could have seen it, but it does give me some great opportunities for stories. 

The bell rings, and we both decide to go offensive first. We circle around the middle of the ring, exchanging jabs and ducks. Nobody really gets the upper hand, but the door opens behind Matsukaze.

It’s Kyoya! 

I try to call hello to him as our eyes meet, but because of the mouthguard, it comes out more like “Oh-hah!”

Of course, now that I’m distracted and my defense has dropped, Matsukaze plunges a fist into my jaw and completely knocks me over, which makes me zone back into the fight. 

I don’t fight the fall for fear of hurting my knee, just get blown backwards and roll head-over-heels to my feet again. 

Kyoya’s here, and I want to impress him. 

I duck the next hook Matsukaze sends at me, and plant another cannon of a shot into his shoulder. We bludgeon each other for another minute before I finally make a mistake and misjudge the distance I can reach in one throw. He steps backwards, leaving me off-balance, and with a punch square to the jaw, Matsukaze wins the round. 

I see Fujita ring the bell to mean the end of the match, but I don’t stay in the ring, just duck under the ropes and run for where everyone’s clustered in the doorway.

“O-hah! ‘Id yo-” 

I spit out my mouthguard.

“see me? I won the first round, and we tied for the second!”

I yank him towards me and kiss him, then pull off him with a giant smile.

“He had me in the corner for all of the second, and then I had to push his punch back, see? And then- what’s wrong?”

He’s making a face like he’s absolutely mortified, and Tamaki looks the same way.

He doesn’t even answer me, I just put two and two together. 

Everything I put down as a coincidence. Those identical-shaped eyes, like almonds, and that same black hair. The voice in the hallway when I was sick. The emphasis on “more than afford” the other day. 

Oh, sweet God. Akito IS actually related to Kyoya. 

I step back from Kyoya like I didn’t just kiss him, then turn halfway back towards Akito, who’s taking his time walking over to us. 

I shift a bit in front of Kyoya and the others, like a move to protect them, and Honey steps up next to me. 

“Relax.”

Nobody moves. 

“I’m not mad.”

I shift one fist up, ready to hit him if he starts moving. Like hell he’s not mad. I’ve heard that before. 

“I’m not telling father and I don’t care that you’ve got a boyfriend, Kyoya.”

Sky above, they’re brothers?

“How do I know you won’t?”

“Because I know he’d disown you.”

“Why would that matter to you?”

“Because we might be distant, but you’re still my brother. I won’t tell anyone. Really.”

I can almost feel the nervous energy radiating off Kyoya behind me. 

The silence between us all stretches for an uncomfortably long time, and then Kyoya puts a hand on my shoulder. 

“Move, James.”

I don’t want to, but I step to one side and let him pass me. 

He takes a step out in front of me, unsteadily. Then another. Then a third, and he’s toe-to-toe with Akito. 

A second of silence- just the two of them looking at each other, and Akito hugs him. I’ve never seen anyone hug Kyoya. I don’t think anyone else here has either. 

Kyoya doesn’t respond for a second, just stands there and lets Akito hug him. Then he seems to relax a little, and he hugs back. 

Thank Sky. 

I let my fist fall and break stance. 

Kyoya and Akito break apart, look at each other a minute, and nod. 

Kyoya turns around without saying anything and walks back over to the rest of us.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know, and I got overexcited, and I hadn’t thought you were related, and-”

He yanks me towards him by the front of my shirt, and I stumble a little bit. Then he flings his arms around me. 

This is not a side of Kyoya I’ve seen before. 

I wrap my arms around him in return, and he squeezes me half to death.

“Are you alright?”

We’re whispering.

“I’m good. I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re okay.”

“I’m still sorry.”

It all seems to sort itself out from there. Fujita and Matsukaze awkwardly take their leave, and then Akito heads out and tells me to hit the showers. 

Apparently, the reason why they were all so late is because they stopped by my house to drop off my lunchbox- I’d left it at school- and Lexi had one foot out the door, but gave them a spare outfit to bring to me. 

Backstabber. Now she’s met the boys. And probably given them a key or something, knowing her.

Haruhi hands me a grocery bag with my clothes in it, and the rest of them decide to wait outside the gym while I get changed. 

I hold Kyoya back.

“Really, Chéri, I’m sorry about this. I didn’t think, and I could’ve put you at risk.”

“Maybe you can make it up to me later, then.”

He laughs at the look on my face, then troops out after the other boys.

I try not to act like I’m not running around screaming:  **_YOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!_ ** in my brain. 

I head into the locker rooms. They don’t have individual stalls here, just a row of showerheads on the wall, and I’m not trying to out two people in the same day by taking a shower without my binder. Instead, I take one of the free towels and run it under the tap. If I can’t shower, I’ll just wipe down and take a real shower later.

Lexi might be annoying at times, but she’s never once failed me with an outfit, and this is no exception. The black jeans I wore the day I first went out with Kyoya, a dark green shirt from one of my church programs back home, and even some of the chains and rings I don’t wear to school. 

Three cheers for Aunty!

I give myself a once-over in the bathroom mirror, strap my boots on, pack all my bags up, and head out to meet the others. 

They refuse to tell me where we’re going, but they all changed out of their uniforms. Honey jumps around me, babbling about how they all keep a spare set of clothes in the prep room or something, chattering on about how Hikaru and Haruhi made all these plans, and it was like getting ready for a party, and da-da-da. 

Well, at least someone isn’t feeling affected by that scene in the gym. 

I also hold my hand out to Kyoya as we walk, who takes it. I’m probably crushing his hand like this- I’ve got a grip on his hand like a vice. Maybe I’m being overprotective, but I don’t want to let go of him. I might be acting foolishly right now, but it’s like I’m trying to tell him I’m sorry for not keeping him safe. 

I know it was an accident, but I’m always so impulsive and unthinking. If I had just calmed down a little, I wouldn’t have put him at risk. Akito is a friend, yes, and he is, before all else, Kyoya’s brother. But I’ve seen people turn on dimes, and bringing another variable into this equation, even one we think we can trust, is a horrible idea. I know I can trust my family, even abroad, and Lexi, and Uncle and his friends, because even if they were to turn against me, they wouldn’t be able to tell Kyoya’s secret to anyone of importance. 

But he told me that first night, at Tamaki’s house, that he didn’t want anyone to know. And now I’ve jeopardized that, entirely by not thinking. If I wasn’t so reckless, this whole situation wouldn’t be happening. I’m always like this; I let my emotions take over, and then I put myself and the people I care about in dan-

Kyoya is rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand. 

Like I do for him. 

Like he’s saying he’s forgiven me. 

“You worry too much, étoile.”

He called me a star again. Even if he’s being quiet.

“If I worried more, I could have avoided that whole thing in the training center a minute ago.”

“James, if I’m not upset about it, why on earth are you?”

“Imagine things had gone badly. Then what?”

“But it didn’t.”

“But what if it had?”

“But it didn’t.”

“But I could’ve gotten you hurt. Or disowned. There’s too many variables in this to bring in another.”

“But that’s not what happened.”

“But if it-”

“James, it happened how it happened, and it’s done. I think we can trust Akito not to tell anyone. So quit worrying about it. You looked good like that.”

He sounds like I normally do. 

“What, fighting?”

Tamaki cuts into our conversation. Eavesdropper. 

“Yeah! You looked great, even when you were losing!”

“You should’ve seen me when I was winning. We ended it in a draw.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I got distracted when you all walked in and he got that one hit that sent me rolling.”

I can already feel the bruises blossoming on my arms and chest, especially those few he landed through my defense on my jaw and cheeks. 

Honey jumps up on my back and starts climbing for my shoulders. 

“Yeah! Tell us how it happened Jamie! Were you good?” 

We’re still walking towards some unknown destination, so I start telling them how it all went. Kyoya’s still rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand, and it feels like we’re going to be alright.


End file.
